


Twist of Fate

by FirePhoenix8



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-11
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-07 12:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 14
Words: 147,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/431088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirePhoenix8/pseuds/FirePhoenix8
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry is taken the night Dumbledore is about to leave him with the Dursleys. With a wizard meddling in the timeline, Harry and Tom become the Riddle brothers. Follow the boys from the 1930s, WWII & Grindelwald, to canon years and a much changed future.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part I: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 1**

* * *

A lizard, unnaturally still, observed the proceedings from its inconspicuous position on the front fence of the muggle house. It was attentive, yet inwardly sneered as it watched as the tabby cat transformed into a severe-looking woman dressed in green robes, her black hair drawn into a tight, strict bun.

Lucius Malfoy didn't move a muscle of his animagus form, while Minerva McGonagall wasted no time in making her opinions known as soon as the old fool reached her after having put out the lights from the lamps of the muggle street.

Her conversation with Albus Dumbledore, in that most ominous of days for dark wizarding kind, flickered in and out of his awareness as he awaited for what was to happen.

"You'd be stiff too if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," said the witch, looking distinctly ruffled.

"All day? When you could have been celebrating?" said the old goat, his blue eyes twinkling, which provoked a small spasm of fury in the tail of the unseen and undetected lizard. "I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."

"Oh yes, everyone's celebrating, all right," she said impatiently. "You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no - even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news." She jerked her head back at the dark living-room window of house number four of Privet Drive. "I heard it. Flocks of owls... shooting stars... Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent - I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."

"You can't blame them," said Dumbledore gently. "We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."

"I know that," said McGonagall irritably. "But that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumors."

She threw a sharp, sideways glance at Dumbledore here, as though hoping he was going to tell her something, but he didn't, so she went on. "A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really has gone, Dumbledore?"

Lucius didn't bother paying attention to the doddering old fool's reply. With icy calculation, he was wondering the same thing. He pondered about the sequence of events of the last months which had brought him to be there, in a filthy muggle street, in his animagus form on the fence of a house which belonged to the relatives of the mudblood Lily Evans. The mudblood who had been killed, along with her husband, last night – murdered by his Lord. And if rumors were to be believed, it was her one-year-old son who had brought upon the death of his Master.

He knew very well that part of it had began over a year ago, when Severus Snape had barged in a Death Eater meeting, gasping about something he had overheard, something about a prophecy. Neither Lucius nor the other Death Eaters had been allowed to hear anything about the matter, since their Lord had instantly commanded them to leave him alone with Severus.

But it had started then, with the Longbottoms and Potters going into hiding, with the useless rat, Peter Pettigrew, somehow gaining favor with his Lord, with a strange wizard in hooded grey cloak visiting the Dark Lord behind closed doors, and with the news that Alice Longbottom and Lily Potter were pregnant, with his Lord becoming uncommonly interested in such a mundane and irrelevant matter.

Lucius hadn't quite known what to think regarding his Lord's change in attitude - the Dark Lord's obsession with the spawn growing in the mudblood's womb.

Yes, for many Death Eaters, it had all began over a year ago, but for him, it started exactly thirteen years ago – the day he had seen his father for the last time. The day his father, the wizard he revered and admired above all others, had told him things he didn't quite understand, when he had been given his father's grimoire, with instructions about the ritual he had to use on his family and those he considered worthy.

And he had done so many years later -precisely last night- even when he didn't understand the reason or importance of subjecting his wife and one-year-old son to the strange ritual. Even after he had bestowed the same favor on his sister-in-law, the Lestrange brothers, and others attached to his family, there were many things he still didn't comprehend, despite following his father's orders without any hesitation.

Indeed, what had happened last night only served to perplex him further, since in the precise moment he had felt his Dark Mark flaring painfully on his left arm, knowing that something terrible must have happened to his Lord, the pensieve his father had left him so many years ago had suddenly been unlocked.

Restraining his unhinged sister-in-law from going out and taking vengeance for their Lord's demise, knowing that it would pain Narcissa if something happened to Bellatrix, Lucius had commandeered the Death Eaters and ordered them to wait, to bid for the appropriate time in which to take any measures and actions.

Despite taking the mantle of leadership with icy determination and cool calmness, Lucius admitted to himself that he was none the wiser about the events which had transpired. The moment he realized the wards on his father's pensieve had dropped, he had wasted no time in plunging into the memories which had been left for him so many years ago, but they had only served to confuse and flummox him further.

Nevertheless, there he was, awaiting to witness something his father had foretold so that he could, at last, understand his father's motives and course of action, and indeed, the very reasons for many of his own actions which he had taken following the orders his father had so long ago given him.

Lucius pulled out of his musings when a low rumbling sound echoed in the night. Scrambling in his animagus form, the lizard quickly dashed along the fence to have a better angle from which to observe the proceedings, at the precise moment in which a huge motorcycle fell out of the air and landed on the road in front of McGonagall and Dumbledore.

He recognized the oaf immediately. It was the Groundskeeper of Hogwarts, whom he had tried, as one of the Governors of the school, to sack repeatedly and which Dumbledore had always prevented. Lucius repressed an inward sneer of disgust and merely kept absolutely still as his small lizard eyes fixed on what the half-giant was holding in a bundle of blankets with depicted snitches flying across the cloth.

"Hagrid," said Dumbledore, sounding relieved. "At last. And where did you get that motorcycle?"

"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore," said the giant, climbing carefully off the motorcycle as he spoke. "Young Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got him, sir."

"No problems, were there?"

"No, sir - house was almost destroyed, but I got him out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. He fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol."

The lizard watched how the old fool and McGonagall reached the half-giant, catching sight of Dumbledore carefully plucking out a letter from his robes' pocket, undoubtedly addressed to the filthy muggles living in the house behind them.

For a moment, Lucius felt a twinge of disgust and pity for the baby – a baby who none, other than the Potters' closest friends, could have seen, having been born, as it was, when the Potters had been in hiding. Dumbledore, given the old fool's expression of gentle expectation, had certainly never laid eyes upon the baby.

If the baby wasn't the spawn of a mudblood and a Potter, and hadn't been the reason for the Dark Lord's downfall, Lucius thought he would have seriously considered snatching it away to bring up the whelp like a magical child should properly be raised, instead of being left with despicable muggles.

However, he remained still in his animagus form as he observed how Dumbledore and McGonagall bent forward over the bundle of blankets. Inside, just visible, was a baby boy, fast asleep. Under a tuft of jet-black hair over his forehead, a curiously shaped cut, like a bolt of lightning, could be seen. Even from his position, Lucius could feel that it thrummed with Dark Magic, and his lizard body twitched as confusion settled in his mind and as yearning to feel that intoxicating magic trickled on his skin.

Suddenly, it happened the very moment, the very instant that Dumbledore's eyes widened when his gaze zeroed in on the cut on the baby's forehead, one of the wizard's fingers shakily coming forth to touch it.

Lucius felt it acutely, a constriction of air as magic abruptly seemed to snap and thunder around them in rolling, blistering waves. He felt it in his very being, in his soul, mind and body, and he haphazardly fell to the ground, twitching while he suddenly found he could no longer maintain his animagus form.

"Harry Potter," gasped out Dumbledore, swaying on his feet, an expression of deep pain etching on his face as his pupils dilated behind his spectacles, looking as if his mind was being torn and split apart. A shaking finger still poised on the cut on the baby's forehead, just as shocked realization seemed to sweep across his aged features. "Harry Riddle."

'Harry Riddle', the words reverberated in Lucius' mind, but not in the old fool's voice. No, it was in the cultivated tenor of his father's voice, echoing in his mind like in the day they had been spoken, thirteen years ago, when his father had told him about the boy he had known. It was the same name which had been imprinted in his mind last night, as were the images of the green eyes and beautiful face, when he had seen the memories his father had left for him.

A chilly fear of being discovered and undoubtedly captured as a Death Eater swept over him, but none of those present seemed to even notice that a wizard had just appeared on the grass, transforming from a lizard.

McGonagall, the half-giant, and clearly Dumbledore, seemed to be experiencing the same as he was. They swayed and teetered where they stood, their eyes became clouded, their expressions one of deep pain, looking as if their minds were being ravaged, as his own was. Yet his experience wasn't a painful one. And he started to slowly realize what it all meant; the memories he had seen, the instructions his father had left for him, the ritual he had underwent and made others go through as well.

"No – can't be 'Arry Riddle!" the oaf cried out, stumbling on his large feet as he protectively pressed the baby against the coarse material of his coat.

But whatever the half-giant was frantically blabbering about with anguish and disbelief, it was ignored the moment they were all blinded by a flash of light.

Lucius, crouching on the muggles' lawn, in a position he would had never found himself in, being on hands and knees, froze and simply stared at the wizard who had materialized before them, instincts of one having been raised in Slytherin House coming forth to ensure his own survival.

He recognized him immediately as the eerie man who had previously been visiting the Dark Lord – dressed in a grey cloak, with a hood which cast his face in shadows and, in one finger, with a strange ring flashing under the moonlight, a symbol in the black gem he couldn't quite discern.

Lucius might be certain that the wizard was the same one he had seen entering his Lord's study, some months ago, but he surely didn't know the man's identity. Dumbledore, on the other hand, seemed to recognize exactly who the man was and what his intentions were.

Not a word was spoken, but Dumbledore's expression turned thunderous and the old wizard immediately whipped out his wand. It soon proved to be useless - no matter what spells the old fool cast, the cloaked wizard was evidently protected by layers of shimmering magical shields.

In the bat of an eyelash, as Dumbledore swept forward to drive the unknown wizard away, a loud wail pierced the night as the bundle of blankets in the half-giant's arms flew from the oaf's grasp, the baby rushing across the air towards the cloaked wizard.

The silent man brought up something in his hands, his ring flashing under the moonlight, as clouds of wispy air wrapped around him. In the next second, as the wailing baby was about to clash against the wizard's chest, the man threw up something in the air and specks of golden dust showered down on the baby.

An incantation in a strange language Lucius knew not, was spoken, and in that instant, the baby who now floated amidst blankets in mid air, was encompassed by a globe of golden light. With a bright flash of whiteness, Harry Potter disappeared into thin air, silently, only a puff of golden specks remaining. Along with the baby, just as quietly but much more inconspicuously, the strange wizard had vanished.

It was in that very same second, as soon as the baby had been taken away, that everything seemed to ripple around Lucius, an avalanche of images and memories raging in his mind – that which should be painful, the very shifting of a timeline, the adjustment of his own previous memories, came to him as nothing more than gentle additions in his recollections.

He finally understood the reason for the ritual his father had written in the Malfoy grimoire. He felt it in his very being – the winds of change, the twisting of fate that was rippling across all the wizarding world, leaving him and those who had underwent the ritual, to adjust to such shattering modifications in lives and pasts with gentle ease, keeping their memories and their very existence intact, only adding more recollections to their minds, of things that hadn't happened but now, had.

Lucius didn't spare a glance at Dumbledore or the other two remaining, not caring what would become of them, yet having the inkling that one as powerful as Dumbledore would survive and cling to his own memories and what was now his past reality – never to be true again.

With an inaudible 'crack', he instantly apparated to his manor, to the side of his wife and one-year-old son, Draco. Later that night, those who had undergone the ritual and others who had been similarly protected, gathered in Malfoy Manor to celebrate the Dark's soon-to-be reign over Europe, for their Lord had been all-knowing and all-powerful. Their Master had planned everything with utter perfection.

And Lucius would receive a wizard who many had previously believed to be long dead, struck down by dragon pox at an old age. He would hear the story of how Harry Potter came to be Harry Riddle, named as such by a muggle girl, of all twists of fate – a girl who was, unbeknownst to her, the daughter of a squib, a girl who would die in anonymity and whose only impact in the Wizarding World would be the bestowing of a surname to a baby who captured her gentle and tender heart, the repercussions of it stretching out and rippling through time and throughout the lives of all.

That very same night, as the winds of change swept over the Wizarding World, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would conceive their second son.

* * *

Alice Jones inwardly sighed as she did her best to present a chastised and contrite expression on her face while Mrs. Sharpe continued yelling at her and Kathy. She reminded herself that she couldn't afford to hurl her apron at the nasty woman and quit her job there. It had been a miracle, by itself, that she had found the position in such precarious times, even if the wages were dismal.

She needed all the pennies she could scrap together to put food on the table, for her sister and brother. Furthermore, it was her duty -she felt in the bottom of her heart- to make the lives of the children there as happy and merry as possible.

It had taken her a year to find a job and by the end of such period of time she had been so desperate that she had taken whatever was offered. She was literate, thanks to her mother who had been a school teacher and who always insisted that she would go nowhere without an education, and therefore had hoped to find a post as a bookkeeper in some shop. But no one wanted to employ a young girl, no matter if she knew her letters and numbers.

Alice covertly glanced around the room she was standing in, her cheerful optimism not being daunted by what she saw. The home was a ghastly place, with wallpapers torn and peeling from the walls, the walls themselves moldy and stained with black spots of humidity, the many bedrooms in the house tiny and grim, with meager, shabby furniture. But at least everything was spotlessly clean – thanks to her and Kathy's efforts, that was, because Mrs. Sharpe certainly didn't care if the children in the home rolled around in grime and fell ill from unsanitary conditions.

She had been employed a month ago and her heart already swelled with compassion for the children who lived there. What chances did any of them have to be adopted? Slim to none, she thought. Yet her naturally cheerful disposition brightened when she reminded herself that she had persuaded Mrs. Sharpe to allow her to teach the children their alphabet and how to read and write. She didn't think Mrs. Sharpe had agreed out of the kindness of her heart, but because the Matron was gaining a teacher for free – Alice's wages certainly hadn't been increased.

Abruptly, she locked gazes with Kathy and her lips momentarily quirked upwards in a covert grin as Mrs. Sharpe kept railing at them. In Kathy's eyes, she saw the same abhorrence she felt for the Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage. Kathy had been working there for over a year and they had instantly become friends, being the youngest of the caregivers.

Kathy and she had often speculated what Mrs. Sharpe did with the money the British government granted to the orphanage. Why was there never meat for the children to eat, why was there nothing to drink but water from the tab, and why the only clothes that were bought were second-hand frayed ones which looked about to shed to pieces?

Well, they knew why. Mrs. Sharpe liked her gin and liked to have a proper bed in her room and other comforts, while the children slept in ratty cots. But, Alice also had to admit, it was very possible that the funds for the orphanage had been cut short, as many things had in London during the past few years. She didn't like to badmouth or think the worst about her employer.

Suddenly, Alice's head jerked upwards when she thought she heard the wailing of a child coming from the outside. A strange tingling sensation prickled on her skin – the kind of thing she had long ago learned to pay attention to.

Some time ago, when her little sister had been crossing a street, playing with her friends, she had felt the same thing, just in time to see a motorcar about to run over her sister. She had saved her in time. From them onwards, no matter why her skin tingled, she always became alert and took seriously that eerie perception.

"Did you hear that, ma'am?" said Alice politely, interrupting Mrs. Sharpe's drunken and bellowed rants about their lax and forgiving hand with the children under their care.

"Hear what, girl?" spat out Mrs. Sharpe, her beady black eyes narrowing with distaste and anger.

"I think-" Alice stopped and then gasped when the wail sounded clearly through the window of Mrs. Sharpe's office. "There's a baby outside!"

"Well, go get it, lass," snapped Mrs. Sharpe, briskly waving a hand at her and Kathy. "I'm not paying you to stand there gaping."

Alice didn't have to be told twice, and Kathy soon followed after her heels, undoubtedly relieved of being spared from the presence of their employer.

"Nasty old crow," grumbled Kathy under her breath as they quickly made their way along the narrow corridor, the hem of their worn, grey dresses swishing as the floorboards creaked under their feet.

"She does her best, I'm sure," murmured Alice with an apprehensive frown on her round face. "None of us has it easy nowadays, with poverty, unemployment and hunger all around."

Kathy's expression turned grim. "The Americans are doing worse from what the radio says – flinging themselves from the windows of their tall buildings, I've heard…"

"The newspapers are calling what we're living the Great Depression," muttered Alice under her breath as they dashed around a corner. "I never thought that after the Great War things could be bad again. I was just a little girl then, but I remember clearly how my dad-"

She clamped her mouth shut when Kathy shot her a pitying glance. She wouldn't say more. She had already confided in her friend about how her father had come back from the Great War, perturbed and violent. Disfigured, having lost an eye and an arm in the war, her father couldn't find a job when he returned to England and things just spiraled downwards from there on.

She still thought that it was a blessing that her dad had left their shabby, small house in Cheapside, five years ago - to make fortune in America, he had said. But neither she, her siblings nor their mother had ever seen or heard from him again. And she thought it was for the best – the man who had been so gentle and loving once, had turned into a nightmare to live with, and her mother had sustained the full brunt of his unbalanced temper.

Her mother… it still pained her to think about her. She had been a caring, smart woman, a teacher in a school for children of well-to-do families. But after her dad had left and the school had gone bankrupt, her mother's mind had snapped when they had been plunged into poverty after her mother had been dismissed from her job.

It was the only plausible explanation Alice could find regarding her mother's behavior. 'Crazed', their neighbors had started calling her mother, when her mother began going around saying that her parents would soon come for her and her children and take them away to their mansion, to a world of wealth, where there was no hunger or desperation, no people groveling and begging in the streets, but palaces and castles where food appeared on tables, where little green creatures cleaned with a snap of their fingers, where portraits spoke and horses had wings.

A year ago, when her mother had been dying from pneumonia, still in her deathbed did she feverishly speak about it, reassuring Alice and her two younger siblings that their grandparents, whom they had never met or known about, would come for them and take care of them. That they would forgive their mother for not being like them and take her children to live with them in wealth, like princes. Of course, that had never happened; Alice had never seen hide nor hair of these estranged grandparents or received any letters.

"Oh my, you were right!"

Alice snapped her head up when she found that they had reached the front door and that Kathy had opened it and was now staring at a squirming bundle of blankets on the steps – and strange blankets they were.

Without another hitch of breath, Alice bent downwards and gently took hold of the baby that had been abandoned at the orphanage's doorstep, first marveling at the soft texture of the blanket the baby was wrapped in with, then curiously eyeing the small golden balls with wings that were depicted in the fabric.

A gurgle issued from small pouty lips and Alice gasped, astounded and mesmerized, when the squirming baby opened his eyes – luminous emerald orbs peering at her.

"Kathy – look!" breathed out Alice, her blue eyes widening as she kept staring into the baby's eyes, utterly enthralled. "Such beautiful eyes! Have you ever seen the like?" The baby in her arms flailed tinny chubby hands towards her and she chuckled, tenderly bringing a finger to tickle the baby's cute little button nose, as she cooed softly, feeling that her heart had just been stolen away, "Aren't you a charmer, baby boy… so beautiful, so handsome… you'll be a heartbreaker, you will…"

Kathy snorted, glancing at her friend, dryly amused, though she had to admit that the baby was uncommonly handsome. "How do you know it's a boy? We haven't checked yet-"

"Because of this," said Alice, grinning widely as she parted the blanket to reveal what she had caught sight of – on the chest of the baby's one-piece, bright red letters spelling 'Harry' were woven, with a picture of a lion cub sitting on top, with a small golden crown between the cub's ears.

"So Harry is his name…" trailed off Kathy, eyeing the baby's clothes and then the blanket. "And his surname? Is there any letter?"

"No," replied Alice once she had carefully searched the blanket as she tenderly rocked the baby against her chest, her expression becoming crestfallen. "What family name will we give him? Oh, why would anyone abandon such a beautiful baby? And leaving no information behind! Poor sweet thing…"

"His parents must be wealthy folk," said Kathy with utter conviction, while she closed the door shut against the cold London night and followed Alice as they made their way to the nursery. "You can tell by the quality of the blanket and his clothes." She frowned musingly, as she added, "And by his delicate features. He must be gentry. No common folk would have such a good-looking baby, and looking so healthy and well-fed – his cheeks are plump and rosy!"

"Yes, he's a little prince, isn't he?" cooed Alice enchanted, as the baby peered at her with almond-shaped, bright green eyes while his tiny chubby hand grasped her finger, a giggle gurgling from his pouty lips. "Harry… It means home ruler – king, did you know, Kathy?" She smiled down at the baby. "Your parents named you well, didn't they?"

"What do you think happened to him, with that cut he has on his forehead?"

Alice shot Kathy a glance, and then smiled as she gazed back at the baby in her arms. "Some sort of accident, I suppose. It looks fresh, but I'll clean it in a jiffy and it will heal and fade in no time."

The moment they stepped into the nursery, Alice made a straight line towards the only cradle in the tiny room, ignoring Kathy's appalled gasp behind her.

"Surely you don't mean to keep them together-"

Alice halted when she reached the cradle and shot her friend a stern glance. "And why not, Kathy Shear?"

Kathy puffed like an affronted pigeon, briefly glancing at the silent baby in the cradle before she peeled her gaze away, a shiver running down her spine. "You know why not, Alice Jones. That baby gives me the creeps – never crying, always so still and fixedly looking with those dark eyes of his. He's not normal – there's something strange about him, something bad."

"Upon my word, saying such things about a mere baby, Kathy!"

Kathy took a step forward, her jaw setting with curt stubbornness as she looked at her friend with a grave expression on her young face. "I told you about his mother, didn't I? I was there when she gave birth to him – and she was so strange, with eyes looking in different directions, so ugly and dressed so weirdly-"

"Yes, you did," interrupted Alice, lifting her chin up. "It was the first thing you gossiped about the day I came to work here. But I don't see why you dislike baby Tom so much."

Her expression softened as she rocked the baby she had in her arms and gazed at the other in the cradle, being instantly pierced by unfathomable dark blue eyes that stared at her as if they could look into her very soul. She repressed a shudder, not wanting to give Kathy more reasons to say such cruel things about an innocent baby.

All the caregivers in the orphanage seemed to dislike little baby Tom and at first she hadn't understood why – such a well behaved baby who never cried and made no fuss. But she did admit to herself that Tom didn't act like any normal baby she had ever known. Nevertheless, he was just a baby, deserving love, tenderness and affection like all the other children in the orphanage. She wasn't going to discriminate just because the child was spooky.

Without any hesitation, with resolved determination and a plan unraveling in her mind, she carefully placed baby Harry in the cradle, next to Tom.

She gazed at them with a soft smile on her face, as she whispered quietly, "Harry is smaller, but he can't be older than a year, just like Tom. It will do them good to be together - I doubt anyone will adopt them straight away, not with so many wealthy folk having lost their fortunes. In a few years, they'll be taken in by some well-to-do family when this Great Depression is over…"

"What are you rambling about?" interjected Kathy, soon reaching one side of the cradle to stare at her friend with a suspicious gaze. "What mischief are you plotting now, Alice?"

"They are the youngest in the orphanage, Kathy," murmured Alice softly, feeling as if her heart was painfully clenching in her chest, "and you know how cruel children can be to those younger than themselves. They should have each other as long as they are here - they should be like siblings. I don't know what I would do without my younger sister and brother. I would be so lonely. I don't want that for these two babies."

Her blue eyes sparkled as she gazed up at Kathy, and she added with steely determination, "We don't have a surname for Harry, so let them be brothers to each other. Let's give them a common past in which the abandonment from their parents will not matter as long as they know that they are together-"

"You want to say that they are brothers?" gasped out Kathy appalled. "To lie to them when they grow up and ask-"

"Of course not!" interrupted Alice, her expression turning dismayed. "If they ask we will tell them the truth - that we don't know about Harry's origins and that we only know Tom's full name. But it will matter little to them when they ask, if we bring them up to be as close as siblings. They have no one else but themselves, Kathy! And they look alike, don't they? Both uncommonly beautiful babies – gentry, as you said…"

She trailed off and blinked as she gazed at the two babies. "Oh, look at them!"

Baby Harry, who had been peering with immense curiosity at the baby at his side, suddenly gurgled happily and then snatched in his chubby hands a silky black strand of hair from Tom's head. Alice, having expected a wail or some sort of protest from Tom, could only gape as the strangely solemn baby locked his dark-eyed gaze with the green one of Harry, one of his small thin hands, with unusual dexterity in a baby, slapping on Harry's tuft of messy hair – as if dishing out as much as he got.

But when Alice was certain that Tom would yank on Harry's hair in retribution, as the baby often did to her when displeased, the baby strangely stilled, his short thin fingers having brushed against the open cut on Harry's forehead.

Alice didn't dare intervene, too perplexed with the interaction, especially when a gurgle, sounding like a puzzled question, issued from Tom's lips, the baby tilting his head to a side as he fixedly stared at Harry. The new baby in the orphanage, for his part, merely let out a soft giggle, his green eyes fluttering close as he placidly snuggled in his blanket, as if Tom's touch felt soothingly familiar.

In a few seconds, after a mighty yawn, Harry had curled up against Tom, fast asleep, while little Tom remained unblinkingly gazing at the slumbering baby, his expression one as if he didn't quite know what to make of the creature that had invaded his cradle and as if he was gravely pondering about his uninvited guest who had no qualms in drooling and draping himself all over him.

Alice chuckled happily, her eyes gleaming as she gazed up at Kathy. "If that's not a sign, what is? That's the first time Tom has done something like this - he cannot stand the presence of other children around him."

"Signs, indeed," scoffed Kathy, rolling her eyes, not looking at all impressed. "Well, as you like, but it will be your task to convince Mrs. Sharpe."

"I don't think it will be hard. She won't care what surname we give Harry, one way or the other," said Alice cheerfully, her voice lowering to a soft whisper as he gazed down at the babies again. "Tom and Harry Riddle."

The tickling sensation prickled over her skin, for a second time in that night, and Alice simply knew that she had done a good thing. As she went around the cradle, to tug on Kathy's apron and leave the nursery for the babies to peacefully sleep in quietness, she caught sight of something from the corner of her eyes that made her pause.

But in the next second, she inwardly chided herself in her mind, 'You will not be prone to flights of the imagination like your mother, Alice Jones.'

Indeed, it was clearly her imagination doing tricks on her when she had thought that she had seen the lion cub, depicted on the chest of Harry's one-piece, letting out a silent roar. And such a beautiful one-piece it was. Pity. As soft to the touch and as of good quality as they were, Harry's blanket and one-piece would have to go and be replaced by frayed grey clothes like other babies before him in the orphanage had worn. Mrs. Sharpe would certainly be selling the rich clothes at the first chance she had.

"Now, Kathy Shear," said Alice quietly as they left the nursery together, "I believe you mentioned this morning that you had something very important to tell me."

Kathy shot her a large smile, with airs of good-natured smugness. "I won't be Miss Shear for long. I'll be Mrs. Cole to you, soon."

"You agreed to marry Mr. Cole?" Alice gawked at her. "But he's so old! He's forty and you're just two years older than myself – you're just nineteen, Kathy."

And as the two friends discussed the advantages and disadvantages of marrying before turning into old maids, and most importantly, marrying someone like Mr. Cole, the owner of a shop and thus able to provide to his bride the certainty of knowing where her next meal would be coming from –an unusual luxury in such times of financial turmoil- two one-year-old babies were left behind, their lives already irrevocably changed further by a soft-hearted caregiver who believed that imaginary bonds of brotherhood were better than none at all.

Alice would never know what her actions had provoked and the profound consequences of it. And in years to come, when Tom and Harry Riddle stepped into the Wizarding World, many would have much to say about the ties that bounded the 'brothers' together, one Transfiguration professor in particular – the very same wizard who would be awaiting in the future, remembering and knowing how the timeline had changed and the Wizarding World with it. That which should never have occurred, happening. But he would be there, to make it right again, for the greater good of wizarding kind. However, so would the Malfoys, raising their second son.


	2. Part I: Chapter 2

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to everyone for all the encouraging reviews – I've just re-read them and they motivated me to pick up this story again and write this chapter .

As I said in the AN of my new fic, Altered Times, I'll be working more on this story and Altered Times, than on Vindico Atrum. I would like to advance a bit on them, to leave them with 10-20 chapters each, before resuming my work with VA.

Mostly because the plot bunnies of these two new fics won't leave my mind and I'm currently enjoying them more. I feel like having a break from VA to develop these ones, for the time being. It's an author's whim, I know, and for that I'm sorry, but I'm more motivated by them at present – writing VA sometimes feels like a monumental task. So you'll have to be patient with me *winks*

Now, I know the first part of the previous chapter was quite confusing, but that was intended. This story will be a long one, since it will have two parts: the years spanning through Tom and Harry Riddle's childhood and lives in the magical world (in the 1930-40s), and then the years of canon (in the 1990s). It will be in this second part when the mysteries involving the grey-cloaked wizard, the Malfoy's second son, and the ritual Lucius Malfoy used, will be unraveled. So for now you should put it off your minds since it will take a long while before the story gets to that second part.

But I would like to clear up one thing; the timeline was changed and Albus Dumbledore –given his powers- wasn't affected by it (Hagrid and McGonagall were). He remembers the original past along with the new one created by Harry being raised with Tom Riddle – but this is the Dumbledore of the 1990s, who will be awaiting in such time to 'correct' the consequences of it.

The Dumbledore of the 1940s, of course, has no idea of what will happen in the future. And since his future self has no way of 'communicating' with his past self, he won't know. However, that doesn't mean that the Dumbledore of the 1940s will not suspect something about the Riddle brothers. He will certainly interfere.

Well, I hope that explanation made sense, lol.

 

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 2**

* * *

It was a marvelous summer day, with the sun shining high up in clear skies and a pleasant London breeze bringing some comfort against the heat. The sounds of children enjoying their playtime in the backyard rose high and muffled the sounds from the street beyond and the passing motorcars.

The orphanage's backyard was nothing to boast about, with dried yellow grass and patches of muddy soil here and there, but at least it offered the children an open space in which to play under the sunlight and get some fresh air.

Alice always enjoyed her task of watching over them as they played the games she had taught them.

Some girls were jumping a rope, a few boys were casting stones to see who could throw them further, some others were jumping on one foot from one square to the other, drawn with a stick on the ground.

And four-year-old, little Harry Riddle, as always a bundle of energy, was playing 'knights' with two other boys, with a stick in hand and a short 'cape' tied at his back, made from a torn and tattered pillowcase.

Observing them with a soft smile on her face, Alice kept stitching a ripped hole in a pair of knee-length, small, second-hand pants.

It was always Harry's pants she found herself mending day after day, she thought with bemusement. The cheerful, rambunctious boy never seemed able to go through a day without coming back with torn clothes, dirty smudges on his cheeks, and a beaming grin on his face.

The little darling of the orphanage, having charmed everyone with his easy-going disposition, impish grins and warm, joyful smiles, always seemed to use all his considerable boyish energy to embark himself in some imagined adventure or other, easily pulling others into following his lead.

"He's up to it again," said Kathy with a frown on her face, who was by Alice's side with her own pair of children's clothes to mend.

Alice shot her a glance and inwardly winced. The years hadn't been kind to her friend; at twenty-two years of age, Kathy looked as if she was in her forties. She had deep dark circles under her eyes and already had creases along her forehead and the edges of her mouth. Kathy's marriage to Mr. Cole wasn't a happy one.

Expecting to be the wife of a relatively well-to-do older man who owned his own shop, Kathy had soon discovered that her husband was a greedy selfish man who hoarded any penny earned. She had hoped to be able to leave her job at the orphanage and have a good living.

Instead, Kathy's husband hadn't allowed her to quit her job and also made her work at the shop during the weekends, added to all the cleaning and cooking she had to do at their home and taking care of two teenagers from Mr. Cole's previous marriage, who quite despised their stepmother and made her life hell.

Alice pitied her but knew that her friend was stuck with her lot in life. Only wealthy folk divorced, and even then it was scandalous.

"I wonder what he does there," continued Kathy in a suspicious tone of voice.

Alice sighed, already knowing whom her friend was referring to, and gazed at the row of scraggly bushes at the far end of the backyard. There, a boy was crouching near one of the bushes, taking care of not soiling his second-hand clothes and with his back turned towards them and the playing children.

At four years of age, Tom Riddle had grown to be a very handsome little boy, yet quiet and solemn, who never interacted with other children except Harry. And unlike his brother, Tom didn't participate in any games or 'adventures', but spent all his time reading some book or other. And when they were at the backyard, he always remained near the bushes, doing who knew what.

Alice had once approached him, frowning when she had believed to have heard some hissing sounds. But as soon as she had reached Tom, the boy had frozen and then shot her a dark look, saying nothing and remaining crouched, his back straight and stiff.

"What are you doing?" had asked Alice in curiosity, her eyes darting towards the bushes, trying to see what could possibly be entertaining the boy.

"It's none of your business," Tom had said, his tone calm and his expression closed off.

His manner of speaking hadn't surprised her. Tom spoke like an adult, clearly enunciating his words and already having an extensive vocabulary from all the time he spent reading. And he always acted like an adult as well, which left many dumbstruck given that he still looked like a little boy. His conduct sometimes worried Alice, since such seriousness and cold behavior had no place in a boy so young. But she had become used to it.

Alice had hesitated then, but in the end she had left him to his own devices. Whatever he did, Tom hadn't even shared the secret with his brother. She had seen Harry trying to cajole his brother to join them in their playing, and Tom had always sent him away with curt and dismissive words.

"It's going to be Billy Stubb's birthday soon," said Alice, peeling her gaze away from Tom and changing subjects as she made another stitch on the pants she was mending. "I'm thinking about getting him a rabbit. Billy seems to like animals. Remember last time when we took them out, how he gazed at the display in the pet store-"

Kathy interrupted her with a disapproving click of her tongue. "You're always getting the children presents. You should better save your wages for yourself."

"I don't spend everything I earn on them, Kathy," said Alice coolly, her tone then mellowing as she sighed. "And they have so little that it makes me happy to see them enjoy the few things I can buy for them once in a while."

"Once in a while?" snorted Kathy, shooting her a pointed glance. "Maybe for the other children, but you certainly spoil your favorites-"

"I don't have favorites," interjected Alice feeling offended, halting her needlework to face her friend. "I love all children alike and treat them equally."

Kathy scoffed loudly. "You don't fool anyone. You treat the Riddle brothers as if they were your own. Buying sweets for Harry and always getting books for Tom. Gods knows why, the boy never thanks you for them."

Alice's cheeks reddened and she cleared her throat before she murmured softly, "Well, yes, but they're especial. Harry is such a sweet little boy and Tom is so smart." Her blue eyes gleamed with pride, as she added, "I think he's a prodigy, Kathy, the way his mind instantly absorbs and understands everything I teach the children. Just the other day he asked if he could have more books on Math and Science! Can you believe it? And only four years old-"

"Yes, yes," said Kathy drolly with a roll of her eyes, "he's exceptional, you always say that. But he's a weird one." She frowned darkly as she glanced at the far end of the backyard. "There's just something not right with him. Strange accidents happen when he's around-"

"Tom will do well in life with a mind like his, mark my words," stated Alice joyfully, utterly ignoring her friend's comment, as she usually did when Kathy insisted that there was anything wrong with Tom. "And little Harry too, with the way he unwittingly charms everyone without even trying. With his sweet nature and adorable looks, people just seem to flock to him-"

"We need a princess!" a piping voice suddenly shouted with eagerness.

Both Alice and Kathy turned their faces to gaze at the little boy who was wielding a stick and had a pillowcase tied around his neck like a cape. The boy's delicately handsome round face was smudged with dirt, his messy black hair was sticking in all directions and his green eyes were wide with excitement. Even Kathy couldn't suppress a fond smile as they watched Harry. Though Alice's sharp eyes didn't miss the new tears and holes in Harry's knee-length pants, and she inwardly moaned - she had mended those pants just yesterday!

"Me, me!" instantly cried out Amy Benson, leaving behind the other two girls with whom she had been jumping a rope.

Alice chuckled at that. Amy, a year older than Harry, always orbited around the boy. Shyly blushing but always wanting to be the object of his attention.

Little Harry ran towards her in his dirty tattered pants, showing knobby knees and thin short legs which made him look like a springing young colt. While Tom was already one of the tallest boys in the orphanage, his brother was the shortest, which made Harry look even more adorable, in Alice's opinion.

Amy flushed when Harry beamed a smiled at her and eagerly grabbed her hand to pull her towards his group of playmates.

"What are we playing?" asked Amy as she peered at Harry coyly.

"Dragons, knights, princes and princesses," announced Harry cheerfully, "like in the stories Alice reads to us."

Then he turned to Billy Stubbs and Eric Whalley, the two boys who always went along with Harry's adventures. His small button nose scrunched in pensiveness as he added, "Um, I think we need something to make her look like a princess." He grinned impishly and waved his stick in the air, "We have swords and capes. Amy should have a…er…" He bit him bottom lip and then his eyes sparkled as he chimed, "A veil!"

"A veil?" said Billy dubiously in his high-pitched voice. "Princesses don't have veils. They have crowns or something like that, no?"

Harry looked crestfallen for a moment, before he cheered up in the next second and shrugged his small bony shoulders. "We only have pillowcases. We'll use that."

He widely grinned as he untied the one around his neck and stood on the tips of his toes to reach Amy's head, haphazardly placing the pillowcase on top of her mass of blonde curls. If possible, the girl's cheeks reddened even further but she remained silent as she shot Harry a small shy smile.

"She doesn't look like a princess," piped in Eric Whelley, eyeing Amy with an uncertain frown on his small face.

"I do so!" snapped Amy furiously, grabbing the ends of the pillowcase and tying them in a tight knot under her chin, shooting a glare at the other two boys, defying them to contradict Harry and say that it didn't look like a veil or that princesses didn't use one. She wasn't sure about either but she didn't care.

"Looks good enough," said Harry excitedly as he turned to his two playmates. "Who wants to be the dragon?"

Puffing his small chest out, Eric Whelley eagerly raised a hand in the air and let out what was intended to be a mighty roar. It came out as a frail, high-pitched wail of some kind, but Harry clapped his small hands with approval and flashed a satisfied grin.

"And you'll be my prince?" suddenly whispered Amy, her soft brown eyes fixed on him.

The tips of Harry's ears turned pink and he shuffled his feet on the muddy ground. But then he nodded and timidly smiled. "Sure."

Abruptly, a frown crinkled on Harry's forehead, and he rubbed it with his small hand, shooting a brief, confused glance at his brother who stood in the distance.

It hadn't escape Alice notice how, meanwhile, Tom had stood up and taken a few steps away from the row of bushes, to stare at the group of children with a dark expression on his handsome face as he narrowed his eyes at his brother's playmates.

It didn't surprise her. Whenever Harry played with Billy, Eric and Amy, or throughout the day spent more time with them than with Tom, the boy would have looks like those – of annoyance, irritation, or sometimes, very briefly, showing anger.

The boy was quite possessive of his brother and only looked content when Harry trailed after him and engaged him in some sort of conversation or other, or even when Harry simply sat and amused himself with other things while Tom read in silence. It was plain for all caregivers to see that Harry worshiped his brother and also preferred to be in Tom's company rather than any other's, basking in his brother's attention which always made him toothily grin with happiness.

But such an energetic and high-spirited little boy like Harry couldn't help getting bored with his brother's serious quietness and adult-like past-times. So more often than not, he ended up engaging the other children of the orphanage in some made-up game.

As she watched Harry rub his forehead, Alice wondered about it as she often did. The scar which she had been so certain would heal and fade in time, was still there on the boy's forehead, as fresh-looking as it ever was, as if the cut had been sustained but a few minutes ago. And she had often seen Harry rubbing it, and it usually happened when there were dark looks on Tom's face.

It perplexed her, and it certainly confused Harry too. She had once asked him about it but the boy hadn't been able to explain it to her. He had only said that he sometimes felt pain or headaches but didn't know why.

Alice pulled out of her musings when she suddenly felt that peculiar tingle on her skin and she snapped her gaze back to the children, abruptly feeling apprehensive, especially when she saw that Dennis Bishop had stop casting stones and was approaching the smaller children with stomping strides.

The twelve-year-old boy was the oldest in the orphanage and certainly the tallest and strongest. It didn't bode well when Dennis decided to start bullying the younger children as he often did. He had a mean streak which Alice hadn't been able to subdue, no matter what she tried.

"I'll be the knight, then?" muttered Billy Stubbs, not looking at all happy about it or sure of what his role would entail.

"Yeah, and we will rescue Amy from Eric!" declared Harry with fierce determination in his piping voice, already playing the part of the valorous prince and brandishing his stick like a mighty sword.

"What stupid game are you idiots playing now?" demanded Dennis, brusquely shoving Eric and Billy to a side as he stomped to tower over Harry, bumping his chest against Harry's head and forcing the small boy to stumble a few steps back.

"We're not idiots," snapped little Harry, glowering up at the tall, broad boy whom he hated more than anything in the whole world. "And our games aren't stupid. They're fun-"

As they argued, Alice set her needlework to a side and started to stand up. She was instantly stopped by Kathy, who grabbed her by the arm as she said sternly, "Let them resolve it between themselves. You do Harry no good when you coddle him."

"But Dennis is thrice his age…" she murmured uncertainly, wariness coiling in her stomach.

"He has to learn how to deal with bullies," interjected Kathy firmly, tugging Alice's arm once more to make her resume her seat.

With battling feelings, Alice weakly nodded but focused her attention back on the boys, alert in case things got serious and she needed to intervene. Her skin continued to tingle and that wasn't a good sign.

"They're retarded. Only little children play games like that," sneered Dennis shooting the four children a contemptuous glance full of malice and disgust. "You're all babies and you–" he pointed a meaty finger at Harry, aggressively poking the smaller boy on the forehead and making him wince –"you're the babiest of all."

"That's not a word!" snapped Harry accusingly. He was quite certain that it wasn't. Tom always got angry and reprimanded him when he used words that didn't exist, so he was almost sure he was right. And using words that didn't exist was a bad thing according to his brother.

"It is if I say so, runt," spat Dennis, before his face contorted with gleeful malice as he added in a low, nasty voice, "You're a crybaby. I've heard you. At night, in your room, you cry and sob and wail."

Little Harry paled, his green eyes widening with hurt and no small amount of humiliation. Only Tom who shared his room knew about that, he had thought. And he didn't like thinking about why he cried; it still confused him, the things he saw when he was asleep.

"You have bad dreams and you scream and you cry like a little girl. You're a stupid little crybaby!"

"I'm not!" finally roared Harry angrily, in his humiliation feeling such sudden fury that he launched himself at the larger boy before he could even think about what he was doing.

A surprised yell tore from Dennis' throat as the two of them tumbled to the muddy ground, as Harry wildly failed his small arms and legs at him as he furiously shouted repeatedly, "Take it back, take it back!"

With a snarl, Dennis batted away the flailing limbs and swatted a meaty fist against the smaller boy's face, making Harry cry out in pain as he rolled on the ground.

The other boys and girls merely stood around with wide eyes and gaping mouths, too afraid to do anything.

"Dennis – Harry!" shouted Alice in alarm, already speeding towards the boys. "Stop at once!"

Neither paid her any attention and she continued screaming at them to stop as she ran towards them as fast as she could, while she saw that Tom stood motionless yet with an expression of building fury and hatred, his narrowed gaze fixed on Dennis.

The twelve-year-old boy had now gotten hold of Harry with an arm tightly wrapped around the smaller boy's throat, making Harry haggardly gasp for breath, his expression one of panic. In the next second, with his forehead scrunched, his green eyes flashed angrily as he opened his mouth and chomped down on the meaty arm that was choking him.

Dennis roared in pain and tried to pry his arm away but little Harry chomped harder, sinking his small teeth in the flesh, and mulishly didn't let go.

Just when Alice reached them and when Dennis was aiming a punch to knock out Harry which would certainly injure him quite severely, the twelve year old suddenly screamed and doubled over, contorting on the ground and attempting to wrap his arms around himself as if to protect his own body from some unknown force.

It was such a scream that it made the small hairs of the nape of her neck stand up. Some of the rest of the children were now crying with fear and Harry had stopped biting the boy. To her perplexity, the small boy laid whimpering, clutching his scarred forehead.

Alice stood there, dumbstruck, as Dennis kept shrieking for unknown reasons while Harry's whimpers mellowed but still continued. And then she saw Tom, who hadn't moved an inch, his penetrating gaze still focused on Dennis. Yet now, the boy's expression was one of gleeful enjoyment and satisfaction.

"He's the Devil's child," echoed Father Patrick's voice in Alice's mind, suddenly making her feel dizzy.

It had happened a year ago. Back then, she took all the children at least once a month to the small church two blocks away from the orphanage. She wasn't a particularly devoted religious person but she did believe that it would do the children some good to attend mass once in a while to listen to Father Patrick's readings and lectures about morality.

Though, most of the children didn't pay much attention. Only little Amy seemed to enjoy it. Harry always ended up falling asleep with his head on Alice's lap, snoring, albeit gratefully it was softly. And the small boy always looked so beautiful and angelic in his sleep that she never had the heart to wake him up.

On the other hand, Tom always wore a bored and disinterested expression on his face and ended up taking a book with him, to read it while Father Patrick animatedly ranted about Good and Evil.

Alice had felt a bit abashed since Tom made no efforts to conceal that he read a book and utterly ignored what was being said. When Alice had once seen Father Patrick shoot the boy an irked look from the pulpit, she had politely asked Tom to stop taking a book to mass.

"Then don't force me to attend. It's a waste of my time," had replied Tom curtly, leveling at her a cold glance. "I don't believe in God."

Alice had been struck speechless. For a three-year-old to say something like that, as if he had gravely pondered about the matter, seriously analyzed it from all angles, and had come to his own unwavering conclusions.

Nevertheless, Father Patrick was a good and patient man, and she had asked him to have a word with the boy. After mass, the warm-hearted man had herded Tom into his office and Alice had waited outside.

A mere fifteen minutes had gone by when the door was yanked open and Tom strode out, looking utterly composed and calm while Father Patrick stood trembling, his face pale and his expression horrified and fearful.

"He's the Devil's child," the man had shakily muttered to her as he thickly swallowed. Then he had pulled himself to his full height, pierced her with his eyes, and had added in a fierce and firm tone of voice, "Don't bring him to my Church again."

And with that, he had slammed the door shut on her face while Tom shot her a satisfied little smirk, which seemed to mock her for her efforts.

She never could pry from Tom or Father Patrick what had happened between them. But soon, the whole neighborhood was gossiping about how the Father had banned the boy from Church and they started giving the boy dirty looks whenever Alice took the children out.

That hadn't sat well with her. It meant that Father Patrick had said something about it. And her opinion of him had radically changed. No matter the reason, a man who could cause such discrimination against a child, however unintended, was no longer in her good graces. Orphaned children, especially, had to be protected from such prejudices.

She had never taken the children back to Father Patrick's Church but to another which, alas, was a bit farther away from the orphanage. And certainly, she hadn't insisted anymore about Tom coming with them. And since Tom didn't go, Harry had mutinously refused to attend as well. Where his brother led, little Harry usually stubbornly followed. It had made her sigh but she had yielded to the boy's wishes.

Alice believed in God or some sort of higher power, yes, but she wasn't quite sure that there was a Heaven and Hell. And no matter what Father Patrick said, she was sure that there were no such things as Devil's children. Children were born inherently good and innocent in her opinion, and no matter how Tom behaved, she would never believe otherwise – even now, when she was confronted with Tom's gleeful expression as Dennis laid on the ground.

Finally, Alice acted when she saw that Kathy was already tending to Dennis, helping the boy up and herding him towards the house. The boy still looked in pain and he walked awkwardly, but seemed too out of it to make any protests.

Kathy didn't leave before shooting Tom a glance, and then a pointed one at Alice, as if saying 'See what I mean?'.

But no matter the inexplicable strangeness of what had happened, her friend clearly wasn't seeing what Alice did as she gazed at the Riddle brothers.

Tom had carefully picked up Harry from the ground and was now embracing him, whispering hushed words into his smaller brother's ear as Harry whimpered against his chest. Tom's long fingers were carding the boy's mop of wild hair and it seemed to have a soothing effect on his brother, who soon quieted.

There was indeed inherent goodness in Tom if he cared so much for his brother, and that was enough for Alice.

At last, she cleared her throat, glancing at the other children who looked fearful and perturbed, and she said loudly with all the cheerfulness she could muster, "Who wants me to read to them a fairytale?"

"I do," said Amy softly, her brown eyes wavering from her, to the Riddle brothers, and back. Then she seemed to become even more confident and reached Alice, clutching Alice's apron with a small hand.

Soon, all the other children surrounded her, what had happened already forgotten in their eagerness for tales of doting parents who loved their princess daughter, and kingdoms filled with wealth where there was no poverty or hunger and the people were kind, and peasant boys who became princes and worlds filled with beauty and joy and laughter - everything they didn't have and yearned for.

As Alice started herding them back to the house, she glanced at the brothers and invited hesitantly, "Harry?"

Emerald eyes peered at her from above Tom's arms, and brightened. In the next second, little Harry was already squirming against his brother's hold, attempting to break free.

Tom shot Alice an annoyed, narrowed-eyed glance, but then nodded curtly, as if deciding to allow her to take his brother away from him - this time.

And with eyes which dried quickly and a skip to his steps, Harry joined the others, already piping his preferences, "I want the one of the house made of chocolate and candies and the bad witch that wants to eat the boy and girl."

Alice warmly smiled at him, though she now noticed the bruise around the child's left eye caused by Dennis' first punch. She would have to see if they had anything left to help with a blackened eye. The orphanage's supplies were scarce.

She chuckled and petted his wild mop of hair. "Then you shall have it."

"No! The one of the sleeping princess and the handsome prince and the kiss!" one of the girls voiced dreamily.

And amidst more requests for different tales, they left Tom behind. Alice knew better than to invite him to join them. While Harry was the child who most avidly listened to all her fairytales and bedtime stories, his green eyes sparkling as he envisioned himself as some prince with a life full of adventures with monsters to be defeated and princesses to be saved, Tom had disdained her storytelling from the start. And whenever she gathered the children for such purposes, he promptly vanished to his room to read some textbook or other.

* * *

A flickering flame from a short crooked candle bathed Tom's face as he flipped a page of his book. It was past midnight and absolute silence reigned in the orphanage; everywhere except in his small room, much to his annoyance.

A whimper reached his ears accompanied by the rustle of blankets, and Tom had to make a great effort to control his irritation. He focused back on the text, his handsome face with an expression of forced concentration and his dark blue gaze hungrily roving over the information.

Another sound of distress was heard and Tom's lips thinned. Nevertheless, he shot a glance at the small cot across from his. Harry was fast asleep but his eyes were moving wildly under their closed lids and his small body moved restlessly under the blankets.

Tom clicked his tongue but turned away and continued reading. A few minutes had passed by, when a terrified scream resounded in the room, followed by a gasped intake of air, more rustling of blankets and then breathing that was fast and panted, accompanied by a muffled sob.

Closing his eyes with supreme annoyance for a brief moment, he snapped them open to glance at his brother once more. Now, Harry was awake and had tightly wrapped the blankets around him in a sort of cocoon-like bundle, with his face burrowed into the tattered pillow, which muffled the sobbed sounds that came from the small boy.

As usually happened, in the next seconds, a tuft of messy black hair stuck out from the blankets and pair of wide, pleading green eyes peered from under them, looking straight at him.

Tom let out a suffering sigh, held his book up with one hand and lifted his blanket to a side with the other, invitingly.

In a flash, little Harry scrambled out of his cot and jumped into Tom's, fidgeting until he was comfortably settled against his brother's chest. Tom wrapped the blanket around them and gazed down at the smaller boy.

"The same nightmare? The green light?"

Harry sniffled and nodded before he nuzzled his face into the crook of Tom's neck, as he mumbled with a hiccup, "And the – the red eyes. They scare me."

Tom tsked. His brother had had the same nightmare for as long as he remembered, but it was certain that Harry's overactive imagination didn't need any more encouragement from that damnable Alice and her fairytales.

"Monsters don't exist," he assured his brother sternly.

He felt Harry shrugging his small shoulders before the boy peered up at him. "They do in my dreams."

Then he winced and brought up a small hand to rub his forehead. Tom's gaze followed the motion and he frowned as he stared at the reddened scar on his brother's forehead.

"Does it still hurt every time you have the nightmare?" he murmured quietly.

Harry nodded and then seemed to think about it carefully before he answered in his piping voice, "It tingles. Like pricks of small needles." He then peered up at him uncertainly and said in a small voice, "You could do that - what you always do. It helps."

Tom shot him a little smirk and threaded his fingers through his brother's mop of hair before reaching the scar, tracing it with a feather-like touch. He frowned a little bit when he felt a sort of pleasant warmth suffusing his fingertips and trailing up his hand and arm, but he was used to it by now, so he simply allowed himself to enjoy it.

When Harry sighed placidly, Tom's touch evidently soothing away any lingering pain, he stopped the caress as his gaze focused on Harry's left eye.

"No – don't stop," complained Harry with a disgruntled moan.

"Hush, let me see something," said Tom shortly as he lifted his brother's chin up with a finger so that the candle's flame could fully illuminate the boy's face. He frowned down at Harry as he gently traced the boy's left eye with a fingertip. "It's not swollen anymore and the bruise has faded. What did you do?"

Harry blinked up at him. "Nothing. Alice said she didn't have more creams for bruises."

Tom's frown deepened but Harry didn't bother wondering what seemed to surprise his brother and made him look so pensive and bewildered.

Instead, he grabbed his brother's fingers with determination, pulling them from around his eye and onto his scar, as he said a little miffed, "Do it again. And don't stop this time."

Tom resumed the caress but he nevertheless scoffed, "Demanding little brat, you've become so spoiled."

"I'm not spoiled," grumbled Harry against his brother's chest. Then, with a snap of his head, he looked up and bit out fiercely, "And I'm not little!"

Shooting him a mocking smirk, Tom intoned superiorly, "You are. You're my little brother-"

"I'm your twin!" snapped Harry taking deep offense. "We have the same age-"

"But I'm a full head taller than you. So you  _are_  my little brother," declared Tom solemnly. "Age makes no difference."

"Not true," piped Harry sourly, and with a huff, he burrowed his face against his brother's chest once more. He hated being the smallest and shortest boy in the orphanage and he hated his know-it-all brother who was taller than him and never let him forget it.

"One day I'll be taller than you," he started muttering darkly, "I'll be taller than... than a tree! And you'll be sorry, because you'll be all jealous of me and I'll laugh and rub it in and I won't play with you anymore -"

"Sure, as if that will ever happen," snorted Tom, then rolling his eyes at the idiocy of it. "Taller than a tree…"

Harry glared up at him and said with utter conviction, "Just you wait and see."

Tom scoffed dismissively and decided to ignore his stupid little brat of a brother. He opened his book once more and held it against the right side of his chest since Harry's mop of hair fully occupied the other.

"Not reading again," groaned Harry despondently. "You're always reading and it's boring." His expression darkened and he added accusingly, "And you promised you would keep touching my scar-"

"I promised nothing of the sort," hissed out Tom with angered annoyance, his gaze not leaving the page of the book. "Now shut up, I can't concentrate if you keep babbling. Go to sleep."

"I can't sleep with the candlelight," pointedly remarked Harry with a huff. "So there."

"Too bad for you," drawled Tom utterly unconcerned, as he flipped another page.

Little Harry scowled at his brother before he edged closer to the book, peering at it from a side. "What are you reading?"

Tom gathered what little patience he had left and snapped acidly, "Can't you read for yourself, you moron? Stop pestering me with imbecilic questions."

"I'm not a moron," gritted out Harry, his forehead then scrunching up, "and what's imbe – imbelic-"

"It's 'imbecilic'," bit out Tom shortly without looking at him as he kept reading. "And it's what you are. It means stupid."

Harry glowered at him but kept quiet as he squinted at the bookpage, now curious about what his brother was reading so avidly.

At the unexpected glorious silence, Tom shot him a glance and then frowned when he saw his brother pathetically squinting with a frustrated and confused expression on his face.

One of his eyebrows rose as he hummed calmly, "It seems you need eyeglasses."

Shooting him a wide-eyed glance, Harry scrunched up his nose. "I do?"

"Seems so," replied Tom dismissively. "I'll tell Alice. She'll surely buy ones for you next time we go out."

"I don't want Alice to buy me eyeglasses," whispered Harry in a soft voice, feeling bad and sad as he awkwardly shifted on their shared cot. "She's poor, like us-"

"If the woman is stupid enough to enjoy buying us stuff, then let her," said Tom crisply, glowering at his pestering brother, before his dark expression softened a bit - somewhat. "And no one is as poor as us, Harry. She earns a wage."

"But she has a younger brother and sister to take care of," mumbled Harry, playing with the hem of Tom's frayed pajama top.

"Fine, then remain blind for all I care!" snarled Tom, promptly turning to a side to face the wall as he stuck his book in front of his face.

There was a long silence as he heard his little brother shifting behind him on the cot. Then more rustling and more movement until Harry peeked his small face around Tom's shoulder to peer at him.

"If I have eyeglasses, I'll be called 'four-eyes'," he said with a little whine. "And Dennis will make fun of me-"

"Leave Dennis to me," Tom said briskly, but he couldn't refrain from casting a wholly self-satisfied and smug smirk at his brother.

Harry clammed his mouth shut and bit his pouty bottom lip, shooting Tom a glance and then looking away, and then repeating the action as he started scratching Tom's clothed shoulder with a short, bitten fingernail, nervously drawing little circles.

"What now?" bit out Tom impatiently as he observed his brother. "Just spit it out."

Harry glanced around as if expecting that some caregiver could be lurking in the shadows unbeknownst to them, and then took a deep breath before he pinned his brother with wide green eyes as he whispered, "What did you do today?"

"I don't know what you mean," said Tom shortly, turning his face back towards his book.

"Yes you do," said Harry stubbornly, still keeping his piping voice low and hushed as he insistently poked a finger into Tom's ribs. "What did you do to Dennis?"

After a moment of hesitation, Tom turned around to lie on his back once more, and he arched an eyebrow at his brother as he said nonchalantly, "What makes you think I did anything?"

Briefly nibbling on his bottom lip, Harry curled up against Tom and gazed up at him as he murmured quietly, "Because my scar hurt when you did that. You know that - you soothed it later."

"So what?" said Tom coolly. "I don't see the connection-"

"My scar always hurts when you're mad," interrupted Harry a little impatiently, shooting him a scowl.

Letting out a mocking snort, Tom drawled unfazed, "Scars don't do that. It's all in your imagination-"

"No, it's not!" snapped Harry, glaring daggers at him. "You know it's not. We don't know why, but it happens. And my scar hurts even more when you're mad and do something. Like today."

Tom shot him a cold look before his face shuttered down with a closed off expression as he inquired calmly, "When I do 'something'? How would you know if I do or not do anything. Today was the only day in which I-"

"Liar," breathed out Harry, his small short fingers jerkily tugging on the collar of Tom's pajama top as he pulled himself closer to his brother, his eyes widening as he continued in a hushed and secretive tone of voice. "You also did something a couple of months ago. When I was angry at you because you said I was retarded because I didn't understand Alice's math lesson and you said you didn't want a brother as stupid as me."

Tom's eyes narrowed before he scoffed. "I don't recall-"

"And you kept saying bad things about me and you made me cry," sniffed Harry, his bottom lip trembling before it stiffened as he glowered at him accusingly. "You made me so angry that I didn't speak to you for a whole day. And you got angry too because I didn't pay attention to you and played with Eric."

He brought his face closer to his brother's, almost nose-to-nose, their gazes sinking into each other's, as he continued breathlessly, "And when we were playing by the staircase, Eric tripped. There was nothing he could have tripped over. But he tripped. And you were there hiding in a corner. I saw you. And you smiled when Eric was about to fall down the staircase and my scar was hurting a lot then."

Harry's eyes grew large as he added in a low, uneasy whisper, "If I hadn't grabbed him he would have fallen. He would have died."

"People don't die from taking a tumble down a staircase," said Tom in a smooth tone of voice.

"They could," said Harry vehemently nodding his head. "Alice told us not to run down the stairs because it was dangerous and we could get hurt. So if someone falls down a staircase then they could die." His eyes grew large again, as he repeated with a sort of fearful awe, "Eric could have died."

Tom's jaw tightened as he regarded his little brother coolly, remaining silent as his expression turned blank.

Scowling, Harry eyed him closely as he said firmly, "You did that, I know it. And you did something to Dennis today." He bore his gaze into his brother's and breathed out, "What did you do?"

After a long pause of silence, which had Harry clinging on tenterhooks, Tom's face became a stoic mask as he said nonchalantly, "I made him hurt. He was hurting you, so I hurt him."

Then, Tom intensely pierced Harry with his eyes, making his face turn expressionless as he waited for his brother's reaction. A cry of dismay, a fearful gasp, a shudder of revulsion... He didn't know what to expect, but however his brother reacted, he wouldn't allow it to hurt or affect him. But still, he couldn't help how his heart thundered in his small chest and how his breath stuck in his throat.

Harry's eyebrows furrowed and he cocked his head to a side. "But how?"

Tom blinked at him. An amazed and joyous smile started to grow on his face before he caught himself in time, coughed, and then curved his lips into a superior smirk. "Because I wanted it so."

Harry's little forehead scrunched even further, the boy still looking baffled, confused, and clueless. But more importantly, curious – and Tom should have known. He shouldn't have been afraid of Harry's reaction. They were brothers! So of course Harry would understand and of course he wouldn't think Tom had done a bad thing. His little brother would see it as something astounding and magnificent, just as it truly was.

Tom perked up and he sat up straight on the cot, easily pulling his brother to his lap -since Harry hardly weighted anything- so that they were looking at each other with their faces inches apart. He grabbed his little brother's hands and rambled excitedly, "I can make things like that happen if I want to. I think really hard about it, I concentrate and I imagine what I want to happen and I repeat it in my head and then – it happens!" His dark blue eyes gleamed as he added gleefully, "And I've been practicing a lot when I'm alone in our room. If I concentrate really, really hard I can move things!"

Harry's almond-shaped, emerald eyes impossibly widened in awe and Tom felt as if he was soaring on high clouds. But in the next instant, he checked himself in time and pulled a composed expression on his face; he nevertheless smirked proudly.

"Show me!" piped Harry eagerly, his eyes still wide and fascinated, gazing at him as if there was no one cooler or greater in the whole wide world. "Move something, Tom!"

Tom nodded and turned his face to glance around the room. His eyes settled on Harry's pillow on the cot across from them and he intensely stared at it, his eyes narrowing in concentration.

Out of the blue, before Harry knew what happened, a pillow came volleying towards him, slammed on his face and knocked him over.

With his short legs flailing over his head, he yelped as he teetered over the edge of the cot and landed on the hard floor with a cry, more of surprise than pain.

A bout of amused, delighted laughter rang in the room, and Harry groaned as he crouched and rubbed his sore elbows and knees. Gazing down at him from the cot, Tom shot him a smug and taunting smirk. But Harry merely threw at him a mild scowl before all annoyance faded as he excitedly jumped to his feet.

"You're an idiot," he declared, before he flashed his brother with a wide beaming smile and laughed, and chuckled, and giggled happily, as he bounced up and down, rocking on his heels. "But that was awesome, Tom!"

"Of course it was," said Tom coolly, the corners of his lips quirking upwards.

"What is it called what you do?" said Harry animatedly as he sat back on the cot facing Tom, squirming with giddiness.

"I don't know," replied Tom, his face now turning serious. "I've read that there's something called telekinesis-"

"What's that?" demanded Harry instantly, unable to contain himself from the bubbling excitement he was feeling.

"The power to move things with your mind, supposedly," said Tom scathingly, waving a hand dismissively. "But I think it's a load of rubbish. The book said that there was no evidence that it was true. And I don't think so either, because I know no one who can do what I can and I haven't heard about it either. And because I can move things but I can also hurt people and speak to-"

He abruptly closed his mouth, pressing his lips into a tight straight line, before he shifted on the cot and then placidly rested against his own pillow as if he had said nothing at all.

Harry stared at him in confusion. "Speak to who?"

Tom ignored him and merely gazed up at the stained ceiling. But Harry was having none of that, of course. With a spring to his legs, he leapt on top of Tom, making his brother gasp and wheeze painfully and then snarl at him in fury.

But as Tom's hands shot forward to brusquely shove him off, Harry plopped the entirety of his body on his brother's, as if he was a sack of potatoes. Tom was larger than him but Harry had the advantage of gravity on his side and he effectively pinned his brother down in place.

"Get off, you little twit!" hissed out Tom angrily, making Harry's scar flare faintly with pain.

Harry disregarded it and pressed his small nose against Tom's, boring his gaze into his brother's dark blue one, as he piped with extreme curiosity, "Speak to who, Tom?"

"I'm not telling," spat Tom acidly, his eyes glinting with fury, "and it has nothing to do with you, anyway."

Harry darkly scowled at him, before he sat up on Tom's midriff, stiffened his back and crossed his arms over his small chest, looking away as he bit out, "Fine, see if I care."

Not one to lose a good opportunity, Tom shot up as he forcefully shoved Harry away from him. Utterly caught off guard, Harry smashed against the wall, his head painfully slamming against it.

A loud cry of pain escaped from his lips as he then fell forward on the cot, clutching the back of his head which throbbed and felt like it was burning and as if knives were viciously plunging into it. Feeling his eyes watering and tearing from the hurt, he shot his brother a deeply wounded look.

His eyes widening slightly at his brother's expression, Tom reached out towards him, hesitated, and dropped his hand. He made his face contort with a contemptuous sneer, as he spat, "Dennis is right, you know? You cry an awful lot. It's pathetic."

At that, Harry's tears rolled down his cheeks and he tremulously said in a small voice, "I hate you."

Tom frowned, before he scoffed unconcernedly, "No you don't."

With his bottom lip trembling, Harry scrambled on his hands and knees and then swiftly turned his back to his brother. Facing the wall, he sat crossed legged on the cot, his spine and small shoulders stiff.

Tom stared at him in silence, seeing his little brother's small frame shaking as he heard the boy's breathing heaving amidst sniffs, hiccups, and muffled sobs.

"Harry…" he said quietly, trailing off.

Abruptly, Harry snapped his head around to mightily glower at him, no matter if his tears and heavings hadn't subsided, and spat, "What?"

Eyeing him insecurely for a brief moment, Tom shot out his arms and grabbed his little brother's shoulders, briskly pulling the smaller boy towards him.

He wrapped his fingers around Harry's small chin and lifted it up, clucking his tongue as he used one of his cuffs to wipe the boy's tear tracks, while he murmured, "You're a little fool."

Harry sniffled once and remained silent as he peered up at him, while Tom kept gently cleaning his face.

At his tender age, not a boy who dwelled long on insults and offenses perceived, he rubbed his nose, let out a last hiccup, and then swatted his brother's fingers away from his face with annoyance, his mind already jumping to more important and exciting matters.

He glanced at the pillow that Tom had made fly and then stared at his brother with wide, emerald eyes shining hopefully. "Do you think I can do what you do?"

Tom sat back on his haunches and regarded him consideringly if not a bit dubiously. Then he shrugged his shoulders and picked up the pillow, hurling it back to Harry's cot as he said calmly, "Perhaps. Try it."

Harry beamed before he turned to face the other cot, his green gaze zeroing in on the pillow and his whole face scrunching up, as he thought, 'Move, move, move.'

Nothing happened and he tried again harder. 'Move, move, move, move, move!'

Still, nothing.

Little Harry gritted his teeth, highly miffed, and thought again, as fast as he could; very, very, very fast, 'Movemovemovemovemovemovemove!'

"I can't!" groused out Harry, throwing up his arms in the air. He glared at Tom with all the power of his frustration and snapped angrily, "It's not fair!"

Tom's lips quirked but he took care not to let out an amused chuckle. Tom had a nasty temper, but he was able to curb it if he wanted to. And it was rare the occasion in which his temper got the better of him and made him lose his cool composure. But his little brother had a quicksilver and fiery temper and a very short fuse, and the small boy could throw such temper tantrums that could make Tom's ears ring and his head throb with mighty headaches. And he rather not experience that if he could.

"It doesn't matter. I can," said Tom in a mollifying tone of voice, pulling the boy back to lie down on the cot with him. "You've got me, so you don't need anything else."

"It's not the same thing," grumbled Harry, crushed with disappointment, as he wrapped a small arm around Tom and rested his head on the crook of his brother's neck.

Abruptly, he momentarily tightened his hold on Tom, and glanced up at him, as he said with a very serious expression on his small face, "I don't want you to kill Eric."

Tom's eyebrows shot upwards before he rearranged his expression and drawled coolly, "And Billy?"

Harry's eyes widened and he quickly shook his head.

Arching an eyebrow and suppressing a quirk of his lips, Tom asked in a low, grave voice, "And Dennis?"

A small frown crinkled Harry's forehead, before he said slowly, as if giving it considerable thought, "No, don't kill him. That's bad and it's bad if you get caught too." He quickly looked up at him, a panicky expression on his face. "They would take you away!"

He breathed in deeply and then calmed down and slowly relaxed, before he continued quietly, "But, well… if Dennis hurts me, then you can hurt him. It's only fair." He let out a huff. "He's older and taller than me, so it's alright if you help me."

Anxiously, Harry quickly peered up at him to see if he agreed, and Tom merely shot him a wide smirk and nodded, as he started carding his fingers through Harry's locks of black hair, petting him just how the boy enjoyed so much.

As his little brother started to sleepily drift away, Tom threw the blanket over them and picked up his book, managing to flip it open with one hand while he kept threading his fingers through Harry's hair with the other. After all, the faster the boy fell asleep, the faster he would be left in peace to read at his pleasure.

"What you can do is just like in Alice's stories, isn't it?" murmured Harry quietly, letting out a small yawn. "With people who can do strange and wonderful things-"

"It's not," said Tom firmly, briefly glancing away from the text to shoot him a stern look. "Those stories are fantasy. None of it is true, Harry."

Little Harry remained silent, not at all convinced, but he was starting to get too sleepy to argue with his brother who could be really pig-headed and exasperating sometimes.

Tom enjoyed only a few minutes of blessed silence before his brother's piping voice was heard again.

"Your feet are cold," Harry complained with a whine, squirming his toes away from Tom's and not at all happy about it.

"Get out if you don't like it," snapped Tom shortly, his jaw twitching with irritation as he once more lost the sentence he had been reading. "Now shut up and let me read."

Disgruntled, Harry shot the book a nasty look, but in the next second his emerald eyes gleamed as his gaze flickered towards the candle. Faster than any little animal of the forest could move, Harry pushed himself up and forward and blew out the candle, and then quickly scampered back under the blankets, eeping as he ducked his head and hid under the covers.

"You little twerp!" roared Tom furiously, blindly flailing a hand around to grab whatever he could; if it was his brother's mop of hair, all the better - he would yank and pull and render him bald!

"I want to sleep!" chimed Harry, and with that, he quickly draped himself all over his brother like a determined octopus, clutched him tightly with all his might in case Tom made more attempts to move, and tightly closed his eyes, as a little smile curved his pouty lips.

Feeling effectively bound and shackled to his bed, Tom's lips thinned with dark annoyance, but as soon as he heard soft, placid snores, he stopped attempting to break free and he glanced down at his little brother.

The moonlight which speared through the frayed curtains of their small window dimly allowed him to see that Harry was already fast asleep, or better said, pretending to; but he couldn't make himself disrupt him.

The mischievous little smile on the brat's face didn't escape his notice, but the smaller boy looked so awfully… Tom's lips twisted with disgust though his eyes softened - a smidgen. Yes, Harry looked so awfully 'cute' and 'adorable' -just like all the adults pathetically cooed about- that he ended up resigning himself to his fate.

He finally set his book beside the flameless candle on the tiny ratty nightstand, and closed his eyes with a defeated sigh. It was just his luck to have an impish little urchin for a brother.

Tom dozed off with his arms snuggly wrapped around Harry and with an upward curl on his lips, his sleeping sly mind already plotting his revenge.


	3. Part I: Chapter 3

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This chapter has a very long 'Alice part', but it's needed to set the background for things that will affect Tom and Harry, so it was necessary.

The last, very short part will be a full scene in the next chapter. I just had to do it like this or the chapter would have been way too long.

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it and thanks for the reviews - they always keep me motivated!

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**Part I: Chapter 3**

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The wide commercial London street was bustling with activity, motorcars rolling by at a sedate pace among delivery wagons pulled by horses, as matrons went around doing their shopping, maids carried out their task of buying supplies and food from butchers, bakers and grocery stores, and young couples and families strolled about eyeing window displays.

In the midst of it, Alice was herding the children of St. Jerome's Orphanage in their monthly expedition into commercial London. As she gazed at the passers-by with their bags of purchases, she felt a bout of cheerfulness.

England's economy had began a slow recovery; there had been a rise in employment levels in recent years, mostly in the South, where lower interest rates had spurred a house building boom, which in turn spurred a recovery in domestic industry. Apparently, the Great Depression had ended.

Alice didn't understand much about Economics, so the explanations in newspaper articles had flown over her head. But she did know that England was starting to do well, since her own sister had found employment as a maid for a well-to-do family and her brother was working in a shoe factory at the outskirts of London. And it was evident too, since people were now on the streets, spending again.

"King George V inaugurates the opening of the Queensway Tunnel beneath the River Mersey, Forty-one squadrons are added to the Royal Air Force as part of a new air defense program," was shouting out a boy, standing at the corner of the intersection of the bustling streets, waving newspapers in his hands and with a stack of them by his side. "Prime Minister Ramsey MacDonald assures that the Four-Power Pact signed last year by Britain, France, Germany and Italy still holds and ensures peace and stability in Europe… Read it all in The Daily Herald!"

Alice stopped for a moment by the boy's side, plucking out a couple of shillings from her apron's pocket and counting the necessary amount before handing them over to the boy.

"Thank you, ma'am," said the boy politely, giving her one of the newspapers, before he started reciting the same news in a loud booming voice, once again.

As the children animatedly chattered, laughed and giggled around her, Alice quickly opened the newspaper to the section of International News and found the article she had been looking for.

It wasn't often that information regarding Germany could be found, and the articles that did focus on the subject were usually short and hidden away among other more cheerful matters of international politics and trade.

The British Government didn't seem to be particularly concerned about what was happening in Germany – at least, they didn't appear to be in front of their citizens.

However, Alice had her misgivings. She had been following news regarding Germany, and what she read had increasingly alarmed her for the last couple of years.

Two years ago, in 1932, the National Socialist party –or Nazi for short, and a right-wing party from what Alice understood - had gained almost forty percent of the votes in the German Parliament, called Reichstag or something of the sort. Then the party's leader, a chap called Hitler, had been appointed as Chancellor by the German President Hinderburg.

Not long after, the Chancellor Hitler had announced that his party's prime goal in foreign policy was to secure living space for the German race – that had perplexed Alice a bit, making her wonder just what that entailed.

Then, a fire had broken out at the Reichstag, supposedly caused by the Communist Party. As a result, that party, which was the second largest one in Germany, had been banned, giving the Nazis a clear majority in government in the following elections.

After this, matters seemed to worsen.

An Enabling Act had given Hitler power to make laws without consulting the Reichstag for a period of four years, Trade Unions were banned –which wasn't a good thing in Alice's opinion; England had its problems with Unions but Alice's brother had told her that if it wasn't for his Union leader at the factory, his salary wouldn't be enough to feed him- and they had started burning books which were considered to be 'un-German'. This latter seemed most atrocious to Alice, who loved books so much when she could afford them.

Moreover, later, all political parties except the Nazis were banned, Germany withdrew from the League of Nations –this had caused some anxious stirrings in England's political circles- and shops owned by Jews were vandalized, apparently because Jews were un-German and sought the ruination of non-Jews and the country as a whole.

Alice had been flummoxed by the latter. She knew several store owners and shopkeepers who were Jewish and she found nothing wrong with them. They stuck with their own, but they were smart merchants and friendly, and didn't overprice their wares and were honest and fair in all their dealings – they even gave credit.

Up until all these news, Alice had felt indignant or angered but not overly concerned. After all, the Prime Minister said that nothing was wrong and that the Germans didn't have intentions of causing any conflicts.

Her uneasiness had started three months ago, when she had been out buying supplies for the orphanage.

She had taken little Harry with her, who liked to accompany her while she went around the neighborhood's shops. The boy simply loved being outdoors and in the streets, where the children playing outside their homes cheerfully waved at him and invited him to play with them, or the passing-by women cooed at him and petted his hair.

Most of the orphanage's children were looked down upon by the people in their neighborhood –most thought that orphans would end up being thieves or something of the sort- but little Harry was always the exception. He had charmed everyone since the first day Alice had taken him out.

That day, she had visited Mr. Hutchins' small convenience store, which sold groceries and all other sort of things.

Robert Hutchins, or Bob Three Fingers as he was called since his pinky and ring finger were missing from his left hand, was an amiable man in his mid-thirties, nearly ten years her senior. And Alice had to admit, she had been secretly fascinated with him since the moment the man had moved to their neighborhood and opened up a shop.

He was very handsome in a roguish way, with his dark curls and sky blue eyes, but also very intriguing.

From what she knew, he had worked up North in a coal mine when he had been a mere boy and then he had taught himself how to read and write –something she admired greatly. When he was in his early twenties, he worked in a factory, not only becoming a supervisor but also a Union leader. But for some reason, he had left the North and had come to live in their neighborhood five years ago.

Rumors said that he had opened his shop with money he had stolen from the owner of the factory he had worked in; that his employer had caught him red-handed and that they had fought, with the employer somehow cutting Mr. Hutchins' two fingers before Mr. Hutchins managed to escape.

Others said that Mr. Hutchins had led a Union revolt in the factory and that in the fight between workers, armed policemen and the employers, he had killed the owner of the factory and thus had needed to flee down South, to London and the orphanage's neighborhood.

Even more vicious tongues said that Mr. Hutchins had seduced his employer's wife, that the husband had found out about the illicit affair, finding them in bed, and that he had taken a shot at them, but Mr. Hutchins had moved quickly to take the pistol from the man's hand though the shot had nevertheless blown out two of his fingers.

And some, those who didn't like him at all, mostly some men of the neighborhood who saw how their wives longingly sighed at the mere sight of Mr. Hutchins, said that he was a Communist. The man did disappear several days a month, going who knew where – they said that it was to secret Red meetings in central London.

Nevertheless, Alice didn't pay attention to such rumors. What mattered was that Mr. Hutchins was a good man; his prices were fair and his wares of good quality, he never tried to cheat any of his customers, and he always went around giving children candies or bread for free.

They had become friends of sorts, as much as an unmarried young man and woman could be friends without causing scandal. The man apparently had a well stocked library at his house behind the shop, because he constantly lent Alice books and novels whenever she went to his store.

"Are you here for Mrs. Agatha Christie's latest novel, Alice?" had said Mr. Hutchins that day, smiling at her the moment she and little Harry stepped inside his shop.

Alice had felt herself blush faintly at that, but she had soon shaken her head. "Not today, Mr. Hutchins, I still haven't finished the last one I borrowed from you." She awkwardly cleared her throat, as she continued, "I'm needing a sack of beans and wheat, and two pounds of potatoes."

Mr. Hutchins smiled at her again, in that gentle way that always made her heart beat faster and something flutter in the pit of her stomach, before he went about gathering what she had asked for.

Alice had to chide Harry when the boy started playing around with some pans on a shelf.

"Oh, let the little fellow have his fun. He does no harm," had said Mr. Hutchins as he settled the sacks on top of the counter, making little Harry beam at him.

Mr. Hutchins had shot him a grin of camaraderie, as if he was a playmate and little boy himself, and added as he pointed a finger at one corner of the store, "I've just received some new toys. You can have your pick, Harry. I'll lend the toy to you for some months if you take good care of it."

"Really?" breathed out little Harry, his emerald eyes going wide as he gazed at the man worshipfully.

"Really," said Mr. Hutchins, his grin widening in a sort of fond and conspiratorial way.

"Thank you, Bob!" piped in Harry, before he dashed to the corner and started tinkering about with wood blocks, tin soldiers, toy motorcars and the like.

"Mr. Hutchins, you're too generous," started saying Alice, "You really shouldn't-"

"The child has no problem adressing me by my first name," interrupted Mr. Hutchins softly, waving a hand, good-naturedly dismissing her comment, as he pierced his kind blue eyes into hers. "When will you start doing the same, Alice? We've known each other for five years, after all."

Alice felt herself blushing from her cheeks to the tip of her ears as she stammered in an abashed, meek murmur, "It's – it's not proper-"

"Who would know? There's no one around," he said, gesturing at the shop, before he gently smiled at her. "And it would please me, Alice."

She felt herself flushing even more. And she hated that she couldn't stop doing that in his presence; she was twenty-four years old and she had to look like a silly little girl to him when it happened.

So Alice managed to raise her head and meet his gaze, and she nodded jerkily. "Alright – Robert."

Mr. Hutchins shot her a wide, gorgeous smile, his eyes glinting with… was it affection? Alice didn't dare hope, she knew that he could have any woman he wanted and most men weren't interested in girls like her.

She was well educated, far above most in the same station in life as hers, and she didn't have any money, she was just a caregiver in a run-down orphanage. She was pretty enough, she supposed; she had seen men eyeing her with interest, but they didn't want a young woman who read books and had her own opinions and who didn't wear nice dresses.

Some of it must have shown on her face because Mr. Hutchins then said quietly, as he intently gazed at her, looking uncertain and a bit nervous which puzzled her, "Say Alice... I know you're a smart lass, and I've recently seen you buying newspapers… Are you interested in what's happening?"

Alice stared at him in befuddlement. "With Germany, you mean?"

He nodded, his expression turning grave as he said in a low, hushed voice, "Would you like to know more? About things most people aren't aware of? If I showed you, would you keep it a secret?"

Now mystified, Alice vehemently nodded, wondering what the 'secret' was. Well, whatever it was she would take it to the grave with her. Even if Mr. Hutchins suddenly burst out that he had indeed killed his employer in the factory, she didn't think she would tell a soul.

Mr. Hutchins eyed her closely once more, and then seemed to decide that she could be trusted. In a few seconds, he had locked the door of the shop, turning around the sign hanging on the window so that it displayed 'Closed' and then grabbed her hand and pulled her around the counter, opening a door which led to the backroom of the store.

Once they made their way through piles of boxes and rows of shelves, he led her through another door which made them enter a small sitting room. Alice's eyes widened since they were now evidently in his house, and she began feeling a bit uneasy. She didn't think Mr. Hutchins would assault her, but still, it wasn't right to be alone in a young man's house. If anyone found out, she would be ruined.

But she didn't have time to protest before Mr. Hutchins had already led her into another room, and all thoughts about silly propriety rules fled from her mind as she caught sight of all the things in there. And she stood frozen, gaping.

There was a small printing press and piles and piles of pamphlets, and numerous posters on the walls, and shelves filled with books, the names of some authors ringing a bell: Marx, Lenin, Engels, Trotsky… and other names she had never heard of before.

She swirled around to stare at him, with both uneasiness and a bit of fearful anxiousness, and stammered, "You're a – a –"

"A Communist?" said Mr. Hutchins, looking at her with a bit of amusement. "Yes, I am. You've certainly heard the rumors." He chuckled at her expression and added amiably, "But fear not, I'm not about to launch a world-wide bolshevist revolution and 'steal people's private properties', as some say about us. We don't want that, you know. Well, perhaps some do want an armed, global revolution, but I'm not that kind. I'm a Marxist and a Leninist, I just dream about a better and fairer society."

He turned around to point at one of the walls, and Alice, still fretful and apprehensive, followed it with her eyes to see a poster of a man with a bushy mustache and a stern face, looking quite intimidating. There were words in some strange language written on top and a big X crossing the man's face – a face she now remembered having seen in some newspaper article.

"And I'm certainly not a Stalinist," continued Mr. Hutchins, his voice now grave. "Sergei Kirov has been assassinated, you know? He was popular, he was a threat. Stalin has launched massive purges against political dissidents, conducting rigged show trials and then having them executed or imprisoned in Siberian gulag labor camps. Bukharin, Rykov, Kamenev, Zinoviev... all gone."

Alice hadn't the foggiest idea about what he was saying. She had read a few things about Russia in newspapers articles, but not much. She had never taken a particular interest in it. And certainly none of those names rang a bell, except Stalin's.

He turned around to gaze at her, a sad tone in his voice while his face looked angered. "He's disposed of the top political tier of Lenin's times. Trotsky was exiled, he's fled to Mexico, some rumors say. If only he could go back to Russia… He was meant to be Lenin's successor. He's an intellectual, you know, not a blood-thirsty butcher like Stalin…"

He shook his head and trailed off until he remained silent. Alice nibbled on her bottom lip, before she armed herself with courage.

Mr. Hutchins had indeed revealed a great secret to her; something that could easily ruin him if she spread word around about what the man had in his house.

She had never heard good things about Communists, they were widely feared, but she trusted that she had not been wrong in her opinion of Mr. Hutchins and she couldn't censure someone for his ideals when she actually knew so little about them.

And even if they were wrong ideals, as long as they didn't hurt anyone, then she wouldn't judge. She liked to believe that she was an advocate of the freedom of thought and speech, after all.

And to repay Mr. Hutchins' trust in her, she could at least show some interest. And indeed, she was quite curious about a small picture of an Asian man in his mid-thirties that hang near the poster of Stalin. She had never seen an Asian man before, it was quite a novelty.

"And who's he?" she whispered, taking a few steps to look at it more closely.

"That's Mao Tse-Tung," replied Mr. Hutchins, as he eyed the picture with a critical and pensive expression on his handsome face. "He's a young Communist leader in China, not very well known outside of it except in Communist circles. We've been hearing many things about him lately. He helped establish the Soviet Republic of China in the mountainous areas in Jiangxi, he's created an army called the Workers' and Peasants' Red Army of China. A modest but effective army, guerilla-like. And he's undertaken experiments in rural reform and government, and provided refuge for Communists fleeing the rightist purges in the cities."

He shot her a glance as he continued in a secretive, hushed murmur, "From what we've heard, Chiang Kai-shek, the Chairman of the Kuomintang government, surrounded them with his army, and they've been forced to retreat from Jiangxi. They intend to march to Shaanxi in the northwest of China, if rumors are to be believed. It's nearly a six thousand mile journey - it will take them a year at the very least. But Tse-Tung is gaining adherents, some of the Politburo of the Communist Party of China are defecting to his side. I've read some translations of his writings… Some say he's a young promise, others that he's ruthless and unscrupulous. It remains to be seen whether he'll be another Lenin or a Stalin, or if he'll succeed and have any impact at all."

Alice blinked at him. He might as well be speaking Chinese to her. Not only did China seem to her like another planet, but the names of the places and the terms he used were utterly foreign to her. She had only grasped a few things. A Lenin or a Stalin, that was basically it.

Nevertheless, even though she had always known that Mr. Hutchins was her superior intellectually, she did feel ashamed for knowing so little. She had only been interested about Germany, because it concerned her. Now she realized that much more was going on in the world, and she vouched to take an interest and start reading more about those matters in the newspapers.

Mr. Hutchins saw her confused expression, and chuckled. "Well, I didn't bring you here to bore you with my ramblings. This-" he approached the small printing press and started gathering pamphlets "- is actually what I wanted to show you."

"My fellows and I believe it's our duty to divulge the information that we've been receiving. We correspond with Communists in other countries, even with some who're German and have been hiding whilst trying to do something from within, and with left-wing Jew intellectuals in America – some of them received letters from relatives or acquaintances in Germany who somehow managed to get the letters across the border."

Mr. Hutchins paused to shoot her a grave and apprehensive glance, as he murmured, "And Alice, it's much worse than what the newspapers say or what is known by the politicians here. In Germany, they're not simply vandalizing shops owned by Jews, they are outright persecuting them. And not only them, but Poles and other Slavs that live in Germany, gypsies and political dissidents as well as the clergy, and people with physical or mental disabilities, and homosexuals-"

A strangled, sort of shocked cough stuck in her throat, and Alice flushed to the tips of her ears in embarrassment.

Mr. Hutchins eyed her weirdly, before a look of understanding crossed his handsome face as he said gently, "You do know what a homosexual is, right? Men who love men-"

"I know," mumbled Alice, still feeling awkward and uncomfortable.

She did know, she had heard rumors about people like that, but no one had openly spoken about it in her presence. It wasn't polite conversation, and much less something which was discussed with young women.

It seemed unnatural to her that men would like other men. Men were made to be with women. But then, as she usually did when she analyzed an issue, she placed herself in those people's shoes and admitted that if someone had the audacity to tell her who she could or couldn't love, she would tell them just where they could shove it.

And one of her favorite playwrights was Oscar Wilde. She had read about him, how he had died a decade ago, in poverty and rejected by society, after he had been tried as a sodomite and sentenced to two years of imprisonment and forced labor, a term which he had served before exiling himself to France.

She couldn't afford to go to the theatre but she had certainly bought his published plays whenever she managed to save some money. The man had been a genius, and if someone like him had been a homosexual, well, then it couldn't be that bad.

His plays were all the rage now. People still had an ill opinion of him -not enough years had passed to make them forgive or forget that Wilde had been a homosexual- but that didn't prevent them from enjoying his work. And Alice had always thought that was quite hypocritical and also very unfair.

Nevertheless, discussing such matters still made her feel discomfited and embarrassed.

Mr. Hutchins cleared his throat, now looking uneasy given her reaction. Seeing this, Alice damned her own foolishness. She didn't want to seem less in his eyes.

And truly, if such an extraordinary man as Mr. Hutchins could be so liberal thinking and open minded, and actually treated her like an equal by openly talking about such matters with her, then she would at the very least rise up to the occasion and behave like a mature young woman.

With determination to prove her worth, she pulled a self-assured and composed expression on her face, giving him a tentative smile as she said quietly, "I apologize, I didn't mean… I appreciate that you speak freely with me. Please continue."

Mr. Hutchins shot her a pleased smile and nodded, before his expression turned grave once again. "As I was saying, those people are being persecuted. Some are taken for 'interrogation' by the Gestapo and are never seen again, while most have been forced to leave their homes and are being reallocated to the poorest areas of some cities, all bunched together in small quarters. And the areas are being closed off from the rest of the city in question, by walls and barb wire – they're… well, like areas turned into prisons, with horrible living conditions and little to eat. Ghettos. And..."

He trailed off, before he suddenly took her hands into his, his expression turning into one of sorrow and pained impotence, as he murmured, "And we've recently heard that trucks have been seen leaving the ghettos. Trucks with people in them, Alice - to transport them to other cities or the countryside, supposedly. But they're never seen or heard from again. We wonder… We wonder where they're being taken and what's happening to them."

Alice's eyes grew large and she breathed out anxiously, "What do you think  _is_  happening?"

"I don't know," said Mr. Hutchins, deeply frowning as if angered with himself for not having more reliable information, dropping her hands. "I truly don't know. No one seems to know."

He shot her a glance, as he added in a mutter, "But I fear the worse. Stalin uses labor camps, so it wouldn't be a stretch of the imagination to think that Hitler might be doing the same. Yet… even from labor camps one hears news once in a while about the prisoners there. In this case, we hear nothing."

Alice frowned, confused and perplexed, but she was yanked away from her puzzled inner thoughts when Mr. Hutchins suddenly dropped on her hands a bunch of pamphlets, as he said, "It's all there. Read it but make sure to burn them after you're done with them. I don't want you to get into any trouble because of me."

He paused, before he shot her a piercing glance as he added, "And believe what Winston Churchill is saying."

Alice nearly gaped at him. No one paid attention to Churchill nowadays.

She remembered that he had been deeply involved in politics when she had been a young girl, serving in several posts in the government.

However, the man had started in the Conservative Party, then his own constituency had effectively deselected him, and so he became a member of the Liberal Party, and then he jumped back to the Conservative one. Later, he had created an independent one for himself before going back with the Conservatives once more. Afterwards, he had been given the cold shoulder by the members of his party and he had exiled himself from politics for several years.

A man like that was clearly unreliable, and only loyal to himself. And they said he was an alcoholic and an ill-humored, cantankerous man with barely any manners at all. Moreover, he was accused of being a war-monger.

Churchill had just returned to the political sphere last year, giving only one public speech regarding Germany that no one had taken seriously.

Mr. Hutchins wryly smiled at her expression. "Oh, I don't like him, personally. I think he's an Imperialist Fascist in many of his views, especially regarding India and Gandhi..."

Alice blinked at him with a smigden of confused wonder. Gandhi? Wasn't that the tiny man going around starkers preaching about having a nonviolent revolt to gain his country's independence? And it was most improper for a man to present himself nearly naked, and India was the crown jewel of the British Empire, after all. Everyone was mighty proud of that. In the newspapers articles she had glanced at regarding the matter, the journalists always seemed to treat Mr. Gandhi with condenscension, ridicule, and scorn. Though it seemed Mr. Hutchins had an all together opposite opinion regarding the issue.

She was yanked away from her puzzled musings as Mr. Hutchins continued.

"...But we have a fellow who works in the Ministry of Defense and he believes that someone there is passing Churchill top secret information, and that some others in high positions in the government are too. So when Churchill said last year that Germany is rearming, contravening the Treaty of Versailles, then I believe he's right." Mr. Hutchins paused and pierced her with his sky blue eyes, his expression grave as his voice turned firm, "I don't believe it because he's the one who says it, but because his informers clearly have some evidence of it. And they're troubled enough, and courageous enough, to leak the information to Churchill even if it means losing their jobs. People like that, I trust."

Alice had left the shop feeling very perturbed, with sacks of beans, wheat and potatoes under her arms, the pamphlets stuck in her apron's pocket, and with little Harry trotting by her side, bubbling with excitement over his new toy.

And now, as she perused the articles in the International section of the newspaper in her hands, she found out that the German President Hindenburg had died and that Chancellor Hitler had combined his own post with that of the President, and was calling himself a Führer – whatever the word meant.

Well, according to a tiny article, it seemed to mean that the man had given himself totalitarian, absolute power. The man had become a true dictator, there was no doubt about it this time.

None of it bode well.

But, another article said that Prime Minister MacDonald insisted that the Four-Power Pact held true, and that there would be no armed conflicts in Europe.

It was all very confusing, with politicians reassuring the public, saying all was well, and some dissenting voices like Churchill's arguing against, and then what she had read in Mr. Hutchins' pamphlets...

However, surely things couldn't worsen even further. No one wanted another conflict after the Great War. It had been a carnage; so many millions had died and it had left them all sinking in an economic depression.

If Germany tried anything, surely the other European countries would stop them. And she had faith in her own government - she had to.

And thus, she inwardly reassured herself once more, as she had been doing lately quite frequently, and she folded the newspaper.

Glancing at the children, she didn't miss Tom's gaze fixing on the newspaper before he quickly looked away, and Alice had to conceal a smile.

The boy was now seven years old, but he had taken an interest in matters outside of the orphanage for the last couple of years. The boy had been barely five when Alice had one day seen him eyeing the newspaper she had been reading while she watched the children play.

Of course, Tom had simply given it a look of covetousness -and almost hunger, she would say- and then glanced away with an expressionless mask on his face before anyone could notice. But Alice had noticed, and she had felt extremely proud.

Nevertheless, she knew him well so she hadn't openly offered the newspaper to him. Instead, after she was done reading it, she had left it lying at the small table in the kitchen before going about with her daily duties in the orphanage. An hour later, when she returned to the kitchen, the newspaper was gone.

And thus, she had been 'lending' newspapers to Tom for the past two years, never seeing them again but knowing that the boy read them at night in the room he shared with his brother. For a boy so young to take an interest in world-wide matters and to even be able to understand newspaper articles, it was a wonder and a prodigal feat.

Ever since then, she had started giving him private tutoring classes after her usual lessons with all the children, teaching him subjects in levels well advanced for his age. Tom had never thanked her for it, and he was always quiet during their lessons; attentive but curtly polite, speaking spare few words to her.

But Alice was rewarded in her own ways when she saw how Tom further improved by leaps and bounds. And to her great satisfaction, it trickled down to Harry.

Harry was by no means dumb, he could be quite smart when he applied himself, but the problem was that the small boy could barely sit down for two minutes straight when she taught the children.

He was so full of energy and playful eagerness, that one minute he sat still, intently listening to her words, and in the next second he was fretfully squirming on his seat, eyeing some toy left on the floor or gently pulling on Amy's pig tails to make the girl giggle or doing some other mischief.

One day, it had all changed.

Alice and the children had been in the orphanage's small playroom; she had been reading a fairytale to the children, but that day Harry had barely left his brother's side. While Tom was seated crossed legged at a corner reading a book, as usual, Harry was next to him, playing by himself with the tin soldiers with missing arms or legs that Alice had found in a dumpster in the streets.

Then, a roaring sound was heard coming from outside. And as frequently happened, Harry instantly leapt to his small feet and dashed to the window, pressing up his nose against the glass, staring with wide, fascinated eyes at the motorcar which rolled by.

"I want to be a mechanic!" he excitedly announced to the whole room as he turned around to face them, his green eyes especially focused on Tom, as if wanting to see if his words met with his brother's approval. "I'll make lots and lots of motorcars and I'll-"

"Mechanics only repair motorcars," interrupted Tom curtly, briefly lying down his book on his lap to give his brother a stern look, "they don't make them, you idiot."

Scrunching up his face in pensiveness, Harry cocked his head to a side. "Who do, then?"

"Engineers," said Tom shortly, picking up his book again with the clear intention of ignoring his brother and resume his reading.

"Then I'll be an ingini!" chimed Harry cheerfully, as if that settled the matter and it was already an accomplished feat.

Tom shot him an irritated look and clearly enunciated, "En-gi-neer."

"Yes, that," chirped Harry with a wide grin, nodding his head.

Tom rolled his eyes, before he settled his book on the floor and rose up, taking a few strides to reach his brother, towering over him as he said in a contemptuous and mocking tone of voice, "Don't make me laugh. You, an engineer? You're a halfwit. You could never be one-"

"I'm not a halfwit!" burst out Harry in indignation, glowering up at his brother, puffing out his chest and standing straight, as if attempting stretch himself up to be taller and be able to match his brother's height. In the next second, he seemed to realize it wasn't enough and apparently decided to cheat by standing on his tip toes, glaring up at the still taller boy.

"Yes you are," sneered Tom scathingly, ignoring his brother's antics - who had began precariously swaying as he lost his balance and ended up on his flat heels again, pouting. "During lessons you barely-"

"Harry has a short attention span, that's all," interjected Alice from across the room, not liking when Tom undermined the little boy in such ways. Harry worshipped his brother and Tom could be so vicious and mean to the smaller boy sometimes.

She soon shot Kathy a glance, who was mending a pair of children socks by her side, and gave her the book she had been reading from. As Kathy continued reading the story out loud for the other children, Alice approached the two boys standing by the window.

Shooting her a narrow-eyed, annoyed dark look, Tom rounded on her as he drawled in a bored tone of voice, "Exactly, he has the attention span of a gnat. So how do you propose he studies to become an engineer?" He arched a sarcastic eyebrow at her. "Would we be tying him down on a chair and gagging him, so that he actually  _listens_ and pays attention instead of jumping around, babbling constantly?"

Alice chuckled and savored the feeling of having Tom speak more than three words together to her. Oh, she didn't delude herself. Tom only conversed with her when they were with Harry – he tolerated her for Harry's sake, because Harry liked her, and nothing else.

But she treasured these moments all the same.

"He'll be more mature in a couple of years," she said gently, shooting little Harry an encouraging smile, "and I'm sure he'll be able to be quite studious then, if he wants to."

"I wouldn't hold my breath," muttered Tom, casting his brother a disparaging look.

"But I want to make motorcars!" piped in Harry, with a mutinous and stubborn expression on his small face, his lips pouting out. "And I will, you'll see! And I'll drive all around the world and –"

"Do you?" said Tom slowly, his voice low, as he eyed his brother with a thoughtful and calculating glint in his dark blue eyes. Alice didn't know what crossed the boy's mind, but in the next second he seemed to come to a decision, and he added coolly, "I'm going to start teaching you, then."

At that, Alice's eyebrows shot to her hairline and little Harry gawked at his brother. Tom merely gave them a self-satisfied smirk and returned to his corner, with Harry silently trailing after him in the next second, still looking bewildered and shocked by his brother's unexpected generosity. Though, in the next moment, little Harry was already biting down on his bottom lip with dread, no doubt realizing that his brother would be a tough teacher and that it would actually be no fun at all for him.

That night, brimming with curiosity, Alice couldn't help spying on the boys when she was making her nightly rounds and heard their voices coming out from the parted door of their room. She covertly peeked a glance inside, seeing the two boys sitting crossed legged on Tom's cot, facing each other and with a book between them.

"I won't have a fool for a brother," Tom was saying sternly, giving Harry a harsh look, as he trailed a finger over the opened book. "It's embarrassing. You can barely read and your writing is atrocious."

Alice had felt a little bad for Harry at that. The boy had been only six years old then and at that age couldn't be expected to read and write well; the other children who were one or two years older than Harry didn't either. But it seemed that Tom had decided to apply the same high standards he set for himself, now on his brother.

Harry was biting on his lower lip, an indecisive expression on his face, as if battling between saying something to defend himself or to admit Tom's words as the truth. In the end, he hung his head low and peered at his brother through his eyelashes, and then simply nodded.

"I'll be teaching you the same Alice has been attempting to get through your thick skull during all these years, and much more," continued Tom in the same tone of voice. "This time, you'll pay attention and you'll learn." He shot Harry a most ominous look at this, his gaze fixing on Harry's forehead. "If not, you know what will happen."

Alice frowned when little Harry winced and rubbed his scar, but she put it out of her mind as they continued.

"From now on, you'll not be allowed to play until I'm satisfied that you've fully learned the lessons of the day," said Tom sternly, though at Harry's horrified expression he mellowed his tone of voice as he grabbed his brother's shoulders. "Listen, I don't expect you to become an engineer. I don't expect you to have to work at all-"

"What do you mean?" piped in Harry, looking thoroughly confused. He played with the hem of his tattered shirt, giving his brother an uncertain glance as he said in a small voice, "We're poor, both of us will have to work-"

"Not you," interrupted Tom curtly, before a gleam sparkled in his dark blue eyes and he jumped from the cot and onto his feet, looking at some point in the distance as if envisioning a glorious future for them, his voice turning excited. "I have it all figured out. We'll leave as soon as we turn fifteen-"

"Leave here?" gasped out Harry, his emerald eyes wide. "But it's our home!"

"Home?" spat Tom, his lips twisting as he rounded on Harry, fury crossing his expression and making his face turn dark. "What, you enjoy wearing second-hand clothes and barely having anything to eat and being looked down for being in an orphanage-"

"No," snapped Harry, setting his jaw in a stubborn expression. "But I don't mind it." He bit on his bottom lip and added in soft voice as he peered at his brother, "And I like Amy, Eric and Billy. And I like Alice very much. I would miss her. She's like our mother-"

"She's not our mother, or a sister, or anything to us!" snarled Tom, his handsome face contorting with anger as he glared down at Harry. "And do you like Jenkins too, eh?"

Harry hunched his small shoulders and murmured in a tiny voice, "No."

Alice, still eavesdropping on them, had winced, feeling her heart ache. Besides Kathy and her, there had been two other caregivers: two widowed, sour old women who had little patience with the children and yelled at them rather than take the time to improve the children's manners in a gentle and sympathetic way.

Nevertheless, the two women hadn't been that bad; one had ended up doting on Harry and the other was merely indifferent to all children. Regrettably, one of them had suddenly died of a stroke and soon after, the other had retired to live with some niece in the countryside.

Given the orphanage's increasingly limited funds, only one person had been hired to cover for their absences. An old acquaintance of Mrs. Sharpe's: Tom Jenkins, a bitter cantankerous old man who hardly lifted a finger if it wasn't to box some ears, slap some heads, or roughly manhandle any child, for reasons so petty like the children being too loud.

Mr. Jenkins and Mrs. Sharpe were as thick as thieves and often spent their days sharing cups of gin in Mrs. Sharpe's office. The matron's vice had worsened with the years, and so had her temper. Moreover, the two of them were of a similar frame of mind when it came to the children, and corporal punishment had started being used, with Mrs. Sharpe's permission and encouragement and executed by Mr. Jenkins' vicious hands.

Since then, Alice had often found bruises in the shape of meaty fingers on some of the boys' arms and shoulders, especially on Harry and Tom. Mr. Jenkins seemed to have developed a hatred for them in particular.

But there was little Alice could do about it; Mr. Jenkins didn't use a belt on any of the children or punched them or caused serious injuries like cracked bones. The corporal punishment he doled out was permissible by English law and was applied by most schools, public and private both. It was brutal and savage in her opinion, but not many thought the same as her.

"Exactly," bit out Tom, still glowering at his brother, "so we'll leave when we turn fifteen. At that age I can find employment as a bookkeeper in a shop. They won't mind that I'm not of age when they see that I'll accept lower wages and when I prove that I surpass everyone in intelligence."

He pulled himself to his full height and continued fiercely, "Why do you think I study so hard? I can already write, read, and do numbers better than any adult, and by the time I'm fifteen I will already have learned as much as I can about accounting and trade. That ought to suffice, in the beginning. With a job, I'll be able to afford a small room for us in some cheap residence while I save as much as I can."

Harry gaped at him, his green eyes large and startled. A small frown crinkled his forehead when he whispered quietly, "And what will I do?"

"Cook and clean, and house-keeping stuff," replied Tom nonchalantly, before he shrugged his shoulders dismissively. "With the rest of your time you can do whatever you please."

"Clean? Cook?" said Harry, scrunching his nose with dislike. He then glowered at him and groused out, highly miffed, "Why do I get to do those things and you get to be the grownup?"

Tom scoffed and irreverently poked Harry's forehead with a finger. "Because I'm brilliant and you're not, you little twit. And you're too small and will probably still look small when you're fifteen. " He shot him a large, smug smirk, and added, "I bet that when I'm fifteen, I'll look like eighteen."

Harry shot him a dirty look, crossing his arms over his small chest and huffed, making the unruly locks of hair of his fringe stick up. "Fine, and then what?"

"Then, when I've saved enough money, in a year or two of work by my estimates," replied Tom solemnly, like an emperor ruling over his subjects' fate in life, "we'll go to America."

Gawking at him and wide-eyed, little Harry breathed out, "America?", as if someone was telling him he would be going to the moon and beyond.

"Oh, I know they're going through a rough patch at present," Tom said calmly, shooting him a superior smirk, "but it's said to be the land of opportunity, isn't it?"

Then he clicked his tongue with irritated exasperation when his little brother looked nonplussed and clueless. "Well, it is. And as soon as I'm there, I'll know what to do." His smirk widened as he continued with supreme self-confidence, "I'll easily make a fortune, I know it."

Clearly jittery and worried, Harry played with the hem of his shirt as he nibbled on his bottom lip, glancing at his brother anxiously. "I'm not sure, Tom-"

Tom instantly narrowed his eyes at him, and demanded harshly, "Do you trust me?"

It didn't even take a second for little Harry to adamantly nod his head repeatedly, though he still looked fretful and uncertain about his brother's plans.

Tom seemed to relax and his lips quirked upwards, his expression content and satisfied as he sat down on the cot by his brother's side. He wrapped an arm around Harry's small shoulders and murmured quietly, "You'll see. I'll make a fortune, and I'll buy for us a great house and you'll have all the food and toys you could ever hope for, and we'll travel."

He shot his little brother a knowing smirk when Harry's eyes brightened at that. "Oh yes, I promise that we'll travel the whole world and we'll have all the adventures you want, and we'll see lots of strange places. And I'll keep studying and making more money, and I'll take care of you and we'll never have to worry about money or food or anything else again."

"Alright," said little Harry, beaming a wide joyous smile, as if the mere mention of faraway places and exciting dangerous adventures had clinched the deal for him.

As she saw the two boys curling up together on the cot to have their night of sleep, Alice had left, feeling highly perturbed.

She couldn't, in all consciousness, allow the boys to leave before they turned eighteen - the age in which they would be forced to leave the orphanage anyway. God knew what would happen to them if they left when they weren't legally adults, especially Harry who had such beautiful features and was still small for his age.

She shuddered when she thought what vicious and malevolent men could do to a boy like him. She wasn't ignorant about the cruelties of men and especially about what happened to boys and girls in reduced circumstances who had no adult to protect them.

At best, Harry would be abducted to become one of the many small-framed chimneysweeper boys who usually died at a young age due to starvation, since their 'owners' kept all the money they earned, rarely fed them and had them living in appalling conditions. And at worst, he would be nightly sold out for wealthy men's pleasures. And Tom wouldn't possibly be able to prevent any of that, as much as he tried; he was still a boy himself.

Yes, she would have a word with Tom and show him that there were other paths he could take. The boy was very independent and also very suspicious and scornful of adults and any form of authority, but with a mind like his he could easily win a scholarship for a good university.

Indeed, Alice thought that the boy could easily end up in Oxford itself. It might not be the straightest road to assured fortune and success but at least it was a relatively safe one. America! So much could go wrong for the boys there…

Nevertheless, the immediate consequences of that day of a year ago were that Harry diligently spent three hours of every day in his room with Tom, learning everything his brother decided to teach him. And in her lessons with the children, Alice had noticed the vast improvement Harry had made in reading, writing, and his numbers. It was evident to her that Tom managed to get through his brother much better than she could ever hope to.

She knew Harry would never be as brilliant as Tom -Tom was a prodigy after all- but the child would be well prepared when the time came for the boys to attend the public school in their neighborhood.

As all of St. Jerome's orphans, they would be attending as soon as they turned twelve. Though Alice had already decided that she would visit the headmaster of the school to have Tom skip several grades.

It would separate the two brothers but they would still be together at the orphanage, so she thought it was best since she would be doing Tom a great disservice if she didn't.

Furthermore, after what she had heard that night, she was already looking into scholarships that Tom could apply to – she would do everything in her power to see him go through good schools and university, and none of that risky America nonsense.

Pulling out of her musings, Alice glanced at the children now with her.

Billy Stubbs still looked sullen because he had to leave his rabbit behind. Puffy the Bunny had been the orphanage's pet for three years and was much loved by all the children, with the exception of Tom who looked irritated whenever his brother played with Billy and the rabbit. But all children adored it, especially when the little animal made its frequent bids for escape and hopped all around the orphanage, the children shrieking with laughter and giggles as they gave chase to the poor bunny.

Her gaze soon zeroed in on Tom and Harry, the latter who was now eyeing the window display of a nearby pastry shop with large, longing eyes.

Suddenly, when Tom shot her a covert, calculating glance, Alice winced. The boy had been doing that for the past three months, and she knew why. It had been her own fault, her own careless absentmindedness.

That day when she had returned from Mr. Hutchins' store, she had instantly read the pamphlets in the orphanage's kitchen while Kathy was in the backyard with the children.

Abruptly, Kathy had called out for her, asking her to bring iodine and some bandages from the house, since Eric Whalley had scraped his knees whilst playing. Hurriedly, Alice had stuck the pamphlets inside the newspaper, hiding them and with every intention of burning them when she returned.

Alas, after tending to Eric, when she got back to the kitchen, the newspaper was gone.

Tom hadn't said a word to her about it, but she knew that he had found and read the pamphlets, and she was aware of the troubles he could cause for her. He had since then been shooting her brief, sly glances that sometimes chilled her spine. As if he was indolently holding a scythe with which he could behead her if the whim struck him.

She glanced away from the boy, reassuring herself that there had to be an ounce of regard that Tom held for her, and then gazed at Harry who was by the taller boy's side.

Alice had to hide an amused smile when Harry's eyeglasses slipped to the tip of his small nose, before the boy pushed it up again.

The eyeglasses still looked as enormous on his face small as the day when she had bought them for him, three years ago. They were large, made for an adult not a boy, since she couldn't afford to buy new frames every year. She had to save money just to have the lenses changed every once in a while.

Thus, the eyeglasses covered the upper half of Harry's cheeks up to well pass his eyebrows, making him look even more adorable than ever before, not only because they were huge but also completely round.

"I want glasses like the funny man's!" Harry had chimed that day at the store.

Alice had chuckled at that.

In their neighborhood, there was an old man who had been an operator of the reel projector in a movie theater in London. He had retired, taking with him several reels of black-and-white silent movies which the cinema had no use for, along with a broken projector which he had later repaired himself.

The old man gladly invited the neighborhood's children, along with those of the orphanage, to his house a couple of times a year, putting his reels and projector to good use. More often than not, they all watched Charles Chaplin films.

But that day when they had gone to buy the eyeglasses, the children of the orphanage had watched a movie which had been released in the cinemas three years earlier, a Marx Brother's motion picture called Monkey Business. And Harry had laughed and giggled and clapped his hands the most. The 'funny man' was Groucho Marx.

Tom hadn't been happy about it, but as much as he told his brother that he looked ridiculous and stupid, Harry had mulishly refused to have any other eyeglasses but those. It was thus that Alice still chuckled from time to time when she gazed at Harry wearing his funny man's eyeglasses.

Finally, Alice clapped her hands twice, making all the children immediately surround her, looking up at her eagerly, knowing what was about to come.

"You have fifteen minutes of free time to look at the shops you like." She brought up a finger and gave them her best stern look. "Remember, you cannot cross the street or go beyond this block. Now go have fun and be polite."

The children happily cheered, earning some looks from passers-by, not all the glances friendly or sympathetic. And in the next second they were scampering away, already entering their favorite stores.

Alice could only give them a couple of pennies each from her own earnings, so there wasn't much they could buy except a candy or two, but most of them were simply content by admiring toys or, in the girls' case, dresses and hair ribbons.

* * *

Little Harry had instantly grabbed his brother's hand and was pulling him towards the pastries and candy shop he had been eyeing previously, before he gave Tom any chance to complain.

When they reached the window display, Harry felt his mouth watering as he stared at all the wonderful cakes, sweets, cookies and piles of chocolates of all sorts with pieces of almonds, strawberries, cherries and other confections, amidst colorful little boxes and ribbons and laces and similar decorations.

"You're such a glutton," said Tom contemptuously by his side.

Harry peeled his gaze away from the heavenly sight and shot him a glance. Utterly befuddled, he cocked his head to a side. "A what?"

"You like to eat too much," explained Tom barely restraining his irritation and already making a mental note to start forcing Harry to read a dictionary from front to back. The extent of his little brother's vocabulary still left much to be desired.

Harry blinked at him, wondering what could possibly be wrong with that. He was so hungry most of times that there could be no such thing as having too much food, in his opinion. And he rarely felt full with what they were given at the orphanage.

"You're getting fat," sneered Tom, his lips nastily twisting upwards, "and everyone will stop liking you because of it."

Harry's small brows furrowed as he glanced down at himself. He saw nothing but his too big shirt which hung low over one of his small shoulders, baring it, and his pants which he had to tie with a rope. He poked at his sunken belly and then huffed as he shot his brother a glower.

"I'm not fat. Besides, I'm-" To his mortification his stomach decided then to let out a loud grumble and he felt the tip of his ears turning pink as Tom shot him a mocking look.

But then he decided that it actually proved his point, and his eyes became large as he pleadingly peered up at his brother, as he said with a little whine, "I'm hungry, Tom."

Tom narrowed his eyes at him, crossing his arms over his chest as he gave him a cold, uninterested look. "What does that have to do with me?"

Little Harry shuffled his shoes on the ground, glancing at the small white cards around the assortment of sweets and chocolates which had a list of prices, and then glanced at Tom, and back, as he opened the palm of his hand to count the few pennies he had there.

"I don't have enough to buy anything," he started in a small, cajoling voice, shooting his brother another plaintive glance, "but if you lend me some of your money-"

Tom let out a loud disparaging scoff, looking down at him as if he was dealing with a brain-damaged idiot. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm giving you my allowance so that you can stuff candies down your gullet-"

"I just want a chocolate bar," said Harry softly, doing his best to look utterly miserable and despondent. "I've never tasted chocolate-"

"Neither have I-"

"And I've heard it's very, very good," continued Harry quickly, his green eyes widening with hope and helpless need – he had discovered that his brother sometimes liked when he peered at him like that, as if Tom was the only person in the whole world who could provide things for him and he had no one else to turn to or who could possibly care for him. He made his eyes grow even larger for that very same purpose, as he added in a tiny, mournful voice, "And I just want to taste it once. Just once, Tom. I'll even share half with you-"

"I'm not interested in tasting chocolate," sneered Tom scathingly, giving him a suspicious, narrowed-eyed look. "Besides, chocolate bars are a luxury, they are expensive. I would have to give you all my pennies for that-"

"But I'll pay it back next time Alice gives us some!" said Harry vehemently, rocking on the holed heels of his worn down shoes as he tugged on the hem of his brother's shirt. "Please, Tom, please…"

Tom clenched his jaw, clearly another refusal about to come out, but then his expression changed as he gave Harry a calculating and assessing glance.

His dark blue gaze trailed from the tip of his brother's small tattered shoes, up the skinny legs and grey knee-length pants, to the small hips, waist and chest, passing over the exposed bony left shoulder, to the thin neck, and then the face, with the delicate jaw line, the plush, pouty pink lips, the small button nose, the delicate rosy cheeks, the long black eyelashes framing those almond-shaped, large emerald eyes, and those ludicrous humongous glasses, to the tip of his wild messy hair – even the latter, made adults smile fondly.

And the whole picture always caused admiration and bedazzlement in strangers' expressions, and marveled sighs and soft, gentle cooings, making them look as if they had been enchanted by some forest sprite, if such things existed. Which didn't, thankfully; with his little brother he had enough. Gratefully, the world was a rational place.

The corner of Tom's lips curved into a large smirk, his eyes gleaming darkly. "If I do you the favor of getting you a chocolate bar, then you'll have to do me a similar favor in return."

Immediately, Harry became alert, straightening out his back as he skewered his brother with a suspicious gaze. Nothing bode well when his brother had that look in his eyes. "What do you mean, exactly?"

"Just that," said Tom coolly, shooting him a superior look. "Those are my terms. Do you agree?"

Harry shot him another glance, nibbled on his bottom lip, and then glanced at him again. He would regret it, he knew, but he was just  _so_  hungry and he so longed to taste chocolate once and for all. Eric had tasted chocolate once and he wouldn't stop yapping about it and he really wanted to know if it was as good as his friend boasted about.

"Fine," he grumbled at last, giving his brother a dirty look before he extended an open hand. "Gimme your pennies."

"Oh no, you won't be needing them," drawled Tom arrogantly, looking entirely too pleased with himself, with a sly expression on his face which Harry didn't like one bit. Tom spread out his own hand, as he added commandingly, "Hand over your glasses."

"What for?" burst out Harry in alarm, his eyes widening as he instinctually grabbed the sides of his glasses with his small hands.

They were his most precious possession, and he greatly took care of them since he knew Alice couldn't afford to buy him new ones; he always took them off and put them someplace safe before he played around with the other children of the orphanage.

"Do you want a chocolate bar or don't you?" bit out Tom impatiently, his expression growing angered.

"If you break them, I'll make you feel sorry," Harry promised darkly, glaring at his brother with all his might as he carefully withdrew them from his face and gently placed them in Tom's hand.

"You're more liable to break them than I am, little twerp," shot out Tom with a sneer, sliding the glasses into the front pocket of his pants. Then he unceremoniously shoved his brother forward, pushing him towards the shop's door. "Get going, we don't have much time left and you still have to repay the favor after this."

Without his eyeglasses, Harry could still see things; they were blurry but it wasn't that bad, and if he squinted really hard he could even read words. So it wasn't any trouble to yank open the door and trot inside. And soon, he stopped wondering and worrying about what his brother was up to, as his gaze travelled over all the shelves loaded with boxes of all kinds of sweets and confections. It was paradise; even the tingle of the doorbell sounded like angels chiming, to his ears.

He barely paid attention to the matronly woman who was behind the counter, who simply gave them a distracted, cursory glance as she continued stacking some cookie jars on the shelves behind her, evidently having deemed them harmless and as just some little boys wanting to buy a couple of candies.

Meanwhile, Harry was utterly enthralled by everything in sight, to such point that he was caught off guard and unprepared to react in time. Utterly unexpected to him, a foot shot forward from behind him, tangling with his own, and with a cry of surprise and alarm, little Harry went crashing forward, flailing his small arms.

He hit the floor hard and slid forward a few feet; clothed bum sticking in the air, his knees scraped, his elbows aching under the weight of his body, with his jaw throbbing and his tongue hurting awfully – his teeth had bit down on it with the force of the crash.

"Oh my God, little brother!" cried out Tom looking dismayed and terribly concerned as he rushed to Harry's side. "Are you well? Are you hurt?"

The shopkeeper by then had swiftly turned around, gasping when she saw a small, skinny boy sprawled on the floor, the boy's brother, apparently, panicking. The woman instantly went around the counter in order to reach them, as she murmured worriedly, her gaze fixed on Harry, "Oh my, oh my, poor child…"

Tom crouched by Harry's side, with his back turned towards the woman as he tucked a hand under his brother's belly. He pinched the skin there and twisted, hard, as he hissed out into Harry's ear, "Cry, you idiot."

Little Harry didn't need any encouragement; everything hurt, and his brother kept twisting with his pinching fingers, and it seemed to burn there, and his eyes were already watery and tears soon started to roll down his cheeks.

In the midst of the pain, he felt confused and dizzy, and he glanced at Tom with an extremely betrayed and hurt look in his eyes, but he could barely speak, his tongue felt swollen and thick. His brother twisted again, and Harry gasped and let out a sob, wanting nothing more than to kick his tormentor away, but he couldn't move, his knees hurt so much.

"I'm so sorry, ma'am," babbled Tom, ignoring any looks his brother shot at him, as the shopkeeper knelt by their side looking flustered. "He's so clumsy, he never looks where he's going and he constantly trips and-"

"Oh no, no, the floor must have been slippery," said the woman, as she gently and very carefully turned Harry face up, her eyes widening when she saw lovely emerald eyes filled with tears, the boy's beautiful face in pain, as little sobs escaped the pouty lips. Her heart ached in her bosom at the mere sight of it. "Oh you poor sweet boy, Rose will make it all well, you'll see…"

She started crooning softly as she plucked out a handkerchief from her apron and started dabbing it on Harry's small face. "Do you hurt anywhere, child? Just nod or shake your head if you can…"

As the woman fussed and kept rambling and tending to Harry, completely focused on him, Tom stood up and backed away against the shelves, one of his hands hiding back, while his other clenched and unclenched at his side as if with apprehension, his face the picture of concerned anxiousness and helplessness, as if he could do nothing but watch the woman take care of his little brother, he himself hoping for the best.

A couple of minutes passed by, Harry merely answering to the woman's gentle solicitousness as best as he could, feeling some of his aches slowly fading away while his tears subsided and his head began to clear.

The woman helped him to stand up, still looking terribly concerned and Harry finally spoke, his cut, heavy tongue making him stumble with the words, "I'm gud, thak yo. Relly, I'm ph'ine."

The shopkeeper tenderly patted his head as she said softly, "What did you want to buy, dear child?"

"Oh, nothing, ma'am," interjected Tom then, his tone sweet and polite, reaching them and shooting Harry a very worried look as he wrapped an arm over his shoulders, protectively. Harry twitched but remained silent and still. "We only wished to look around." He hung his head low and added in an abashed mumble, "We have no money, you see. We're from an orphanage. Forgive us for-"

"An orphanage!" cried out the woman, bringing a hand to her ample bosom as she looked at them pityingly but also with a warm-hearted expression on her face. "Oh you poor boys... And there's nothing to forgive, nothing at all!"

She instantly swirled around and made her way towards her side of the counter, clattering with jars and boxes until she fixed two small paper cones with a few candies in each, handing them over to Tom with a gentle smile on her face. "Here, for you and your brother."

Tom widened his dark blues eyes as he held the cones, gazing at them in awe, as he whispered reverently, "Thank you, and for helping my younger brother-"

"Hush, hush, I did nothing," said the shopkeeper, shooting Harry a tender look. "I hope you come into the shop next time you're around these parts."

"We certainly will, ma'am," said Tom, beaming a gorgeous smile at her. "Thank you again."

The woman looked thoroughly entranced by them, delighted and pleased as she watched the two boys leave her shop; such polite and breath-taking handsome boys – the younger one in particular, such sweet beauty- and they were orphans at that. If not for their clothes, who would have guessed given their manners and comeliness.

Tom dropped his arm from Harry's shoulders the second they left the store and couldn't been seen by the shopkeeper any longer, pulling his brother's glasses from his pocket and distractedly offering them back, not sparing his brother a glance as he gazed at the people in the street.

The glasses were swiftly taken from his hand, and Tom clicked his tongue when he saw that many of the children were already back with Alice. "We have no time left. You'll have to repay me next month-"

Abruptly, he was forcefully yanked by a small hand fisting his shirt, and before he could gather his wits, he was aggressively pulled into the small alley at one side of the street.

His eyebrows shot upwards as he stared at his little brother, who was shaking with fury, his emerald eyes flashing, his teeth gritting. Promptly, Tom pulled a nonchalant expression on his face and arched an eyebrow at him.

"You z'ithead!" spat Harry furiously, seeing red as he shoved Tom against the wall with all the strength he could muster. "I cou'd haff brok'n a bon'!"

Tom snarled when his back hit the wall and he took a steadying step forward, but then he was pushed again, and again, every time he tried to steady himself.

By the fourth time, when a flying small fist came towards his face accompanying the shove, he pushed his little brother back in return, as he snapped angrily, his eyes narrowing, "Do you really want to come to blows with me? You'll be left in much more pain than you were before, that I promise."

Harry had stumbled a step back, still glowering at him with a hateful look in his eyes, and Tom pulled himself up to his full height and added coolly, "Besides, you wouldn't have broken any bones when I made you trip. You're resilient and you heal abnormally fast."

Shooting him his darkest glare, Harry then sniffled and rubbed his small nose with the cuff of his sleeves. The place where his brother had pinched him and squeezed and twisted still ached painfully and he pulled up his shirt, seeing a dark violet and blue bruise already forming. He purposely exposed it to his brother's sight, throwing at him a poisonous and accusing look.

"It will be gone in a few hours," said Tom utterly unfazed. "As I said, you heal quickly."

Harry spoke at last, when his tongue had stopped throbbing and no longer felt like an impediment for his speech, "So what? It doesn't mean you can hurt me when you like!" He glared up at his brother. "You should've told me what you wanted to do, you should've asked-"

"Your nattering is getting tedious, little brother," interrupted Tom in a bored tone of voice, before he shot him a wide smirk and dangled the two paper cones in front of his nose. "Here, your reward, brat."

Fuming, Harry shot out his hands and yanked the cones away from his brother's hands, promptly unraveling the papers and sticking the four candies in his pocket, as he groused out darkly, "Candies wasn't what I wanted-"

"And this," interrupted Tom smugly, plucking out a large chocolate bar from his pants' pocket.

Little Harry's eyes widened and he froze, staring hungrily at the bar as he breathed out, "You filched it… From the shelves? While-"

"While 'Rose'," said Tom scathingly, his lips twisting with disgust, "was tending to you like a flustered mother hen." He shot him an arrogant smirk as he taunting waved the chocolate bar in the air, way above his little brother's reach. "Do you want this, eh? Do you?"

With flash-like reflexes, Harry leapt in the air and instantly grabbed the chocolate bar, giving his brother a little push – just because he was still highly miffed- as he then proceeded to ravenously peel the wrap away.

He broke the bar in half and stuffed the largest piece into his awaiting mouth, very quickly, just in case his brother attempted to steal it from him. Then his eyes fluttered shut, as he savored the explosion of sugary sweetness that burst in his palate, letting out a joyful sigh – it was all that Eric had said and much, much more. He had died and gone to Heaven, little Harry thought happily.

He slowly opened his eyes and worshipfully gazed at the other half left, as he carefully broke it into smaller pieces, soon sticking one of the small squares into his mouth, twirling his tongue around it. As soon as he swallowed, he frowned, looking from the chocolate squares in his sticky palm to his brother, and back.

Finally, he shot his brother a stern and accusing glance as he piped, "You stole. You shouldn't have, it's wrong. Alice says so-"

"When will you stop parroting what that stupid woman says," bit out Tom acidly, narrowing angered dark blue eyes at him, "and start thinking for yourself?"

"I do think for myself," snapped little Harry, squaring his small shoulders as he glared up at him. "I know – I know that stealing is against the Law too, so there!"

"Do you actually think I care two straws about that?" sneered Tom contemptuously, looking down at his brother as he towered over him. "I'm not stupid enough to get caught. I don't care about laws or Alice's or anyone else's rules of conduct, understand?"

Harry shot him a glower. He understood but he didn't agree. Nevertheless, he had more important matters on his mind – namely, to satisfy his sweet tooth. With a wide toothy grin, he munched down the remaining couple of small chocolate squares, his pink tongue flicking out to lick the traces of it left on his lips.

"You're such a little hypocrite," hissed out Tom as he watched what his little brother was doing with a mix of abhorrence and wry disgust, "you have no compunction in gobbling down the chocolate and you go preaching about the wrongness of stealing-"

"You stole it, not I," pointed out Harry sensibly, as he began licking the smudges of chocolate left in his sticky palm and fingers, very much like a little kitten contently licking its paws, purring with satisfaction.

Tom scoffed, but before he could continue saying anything nasty, Harry dropped his hand from his mouth and shot him a grave frown, as he intoned, "And I know you've stolen other stuff. Eric's mouth organ, Billy's yo-yo, Alice's sowing thimble…"

He trailed off as he remembered the day he had discovered his brother's 'treasure box'. A week before, he had gone into their room and he had seen Tom sitting crossed legged on his cot, a cardboard box on his lap as his fingers caressed whatever was inside, his expression one of glee and self-satisfaction. The moment Tom had noticed Harry's presence, the boy had swiftly closed the box, rolling on the cot to give Harry his back as he pulled the sheets over himself and the box he hid.

Naturally, after that, little Harry had used all available time in which he was alone in the room to search for the mysterious box. He had finally found it in the depths of their wardrobe, in a corner under piles of hidden newspapers which had been mutilated with scissors, apparently articles being clipped off from them – those newspapers were another thing.

Harry had wasted no time in opening the box and he had been dumbstruck by what he found inside; mostly, presents that the other children had received for some of their birthdays one year or other, and which had promptly disappeared, none in the orphanage having any clue of who was the perpetrator of the crimes. Though Kathy did shoot Tom suspicious dark looks once in a while, Harry wasn't blind to that.

But he still didn't understand why Tom did it. His brother couldn't possibly be interested or value any of the things he had nicked. And Harry didn't like that his brother was stealing; all the children had cried when their things had gone missing and Harry didn't like to see his friends cry. And he especially hadn't been happy when he had seen Alice's thimble inside the box.

"You dared…" snarled Tom, his expression ominously darkening with mounting fury as he took a threatening step towards him. "…you went through my things?"

"We share the same wardrobe and your cardboard box was there," snapped Harry as he squared his shoulders, his expression utterly unrepentant. "It's not my fault if you left it lying around. I was curious so I peeked inside." He pierced him with his emerald eyes and demanded sternly, "Why do you do it?"

"It's none of your business," spat Tom glaring down at him, his spine and shoulders stiff.

Little Harry cocked his head to a side, eyeing him with puzzlement, his brows furrowing. Truly, there were many times in which he didn't understand his brother at all. "You steal Alice's newspapers too-"

Tom swiftly interrupted him, sneering at him scornfully, "She thinks she's being so smart. She leaves them behind on purpose, you dolt." And without pause, he loomed over his little brother, skewering him with eyes narrowed to slits, as he hissed out in a low, menacing tone of voice, "You better not be thinking about telling anyone about my box-"

"I'm no tattle-tale!" piped Harry with indignation, feeling deeply insulted as he pulled himself up to his full, yet still short, height. And then he added simply, as if it was self-explanatory, "Besides, you're my brother."

Momentarily stumped, Tom stared at him; clearly Harry's sentiments of implicit and unwavering loyalty to a brother something unexpected and foreign to him. Then his lips slowly curved upwards into a wide smirk, his dark blue eyes gleaming with pleased satisfaction.

However, all positive feelings he was holding for Harry at that very moment soon vanished when his little brother flapped his gums again.

"I want you to give them back," said Harry with a stubborn expression on his face, his small jaw tightening. He nibbled on his bottom lip pensively, as he added, "You can leave them under the old couch in the playroom. It could look as if Puffy had been stealing them to make a nest or something." He then shot his brother an uncertain look. "Rabbits do that, don't they?"

"I'm not returning them," snarled Tom venomously. "They're mine now-"

"You don't use them, you just stare at them!" bit out Harry accusingly. "And it's not right. Alice was so sad when she 'lost' her thimble, you know. It's made of silver and it's expensive." He shot his brother a mighty glower. "It was her mother's, one of the few things she has left of her."

Tom scoffed loudly, shooting him a bored look as he said coolly, "Do I look like I care?"

Harry glared daggers at him, before he thought quickly and then shot his brother a nasty grin. "Fine, then see if I return the 'favor', as you called it. I've had my chocolate already, after all."

And with that, he spun on his heels with every intention of leaving the alley and go back to the street to join Alice and the other children.

Instantly, a hand landed on his small shoulder, squeezing hard, and he was forcefully swirled around to be confronted with Tom's furious face, the taller boy hissing out, "We had a deal, you little urchin, so you must uphold your end of the bargain-"

"Says who?" chirped Harry, toothily grinning at him.

"Me!" snarled Tom, his rage mounting when Harry shot him an utterly unimpressed glance. He forced himself to rein in his temper and then superiorly smirked at him, as he added pointedly, "And surely Alice says that deals can't be broken, right? It's a matter of honor or some such thing-"

"She does," interrupted little Harry, his grin widening vindictively. "But I must 'think for myself', don't I? And I'm thinking…" He made a show of humming pensively, tapping one finger on his chin. Then he shot his brother a glower and snapped, "That you can stuff it!"

Tom's fingers sunk into Harry's shoulders, making the smaller boy wince even as he was already rubbing his scar which had started to throb painfully.

"I'll return the thimble," gritted out Tom as he if he had to make an unimaginable effort to push those words through his teeth.

Feeling quite cheerful and pleased with himself, Harry beamed and said eagerly, "And the other things too-"

"Just the thimble - take it or leave it!" spat Tom harshly, his tight jaw clenching with infuriated vexation.

A mutinous expression crossed over Harry's small face for a moment, before he deflated and grumbled, "Fine." He shot his brother a look full of apprehension, and added, "What do I have to do to return the favor?"

Tom dropped his hands from his little brother's shoulders and gave him a smug smirk, as he said smoothly, "It worked quite well, didn't it? You 'tripping' and crashing on the floor, averting attention from me as I nicked the chocolate bar." His smirk grew larger as his dark blue eyes gleamed. "I want us to do the same thing, only in a bookstore next time. I won't trip you, you can just stumble on some shelf or something like that – I don't want you whining to me about how I 'hurt' you."

He shot Harry a sneer at this, before he continued, his voice now turning eager and excited, "I'll be able to tuck a book behind my back, under the waistline of my pants, if it's small enough. And we can take turns. One month you decide what you want and which store to hit, then next time I choose, and so on. Alice takes us to different commercial areas often so we won't be caught and no one will suspect."

Gaping at him, Harry stared with wide eyes, before he swallowed thickly, finding his voice as he whispered, still shocked, "You're talking about stealing again. Stealing every time Alice takes us out." He frantically shook his head. "I won't steal, Tom!"

"Ah, but as you pointed out before," interjected Tom, giving him a superior look as his lips twisted upwards, "you won't be stealing, only I will."

Furrowing his brow, Harry shot him a dubious glance. "But I'll still be your accop- accomp-"

"Accomplice," bit out Tom impatiently. "Yes, you will." He then pierced his little brother with livid, smoldering, narrowed eyes, and spat, "You can't refuse. You had no scruples about eating your chocolate so you can't refuse now. It's the same thing."

"I dunno…" trailed off Harry uncertainly, shifting from one foot to the other as he fretfully played with the hem of his tattered shirt. He bit on his bottom lip and peered up at his brother anxiously. "What if we get caught, what if the shopkeeper doesn't care when I fall, what if-"

"They will care, because of your face, and your eyes," snapped Tom briskly, glaring at him with annoyance. "They are…" His lips twisted with disgust and he spat harshly, "Pretty. And when your eyes are all watery and teary they make the adults' pathetic little hearts melt. Get it?"

Harry stared at him. And ever so slowly, his pouty lips curved until he was toothily grinning. "I know."

Momentarily dumbstruck, Tom stared back at him. Then his eyes dangerously narrowed, piercing the small boy, as if wishing to painfully dissect him to see his insides and all his inner thoughts.

Utterly unfazed, Harry merely broadened his grin roguishly. Really, what did his brother think? He wasn't that thick. Over the years he had seen how the grownups reacted to him; he would have to be blind and stupid not to notice.

And he had learned stuff being around Tom; like how Tom became all polite towards Alice when she was giving him private lessons, and how he sweet-talked to strangers to get things he wanted when they went out, just like what had happened a few moments ago with the shopkeeper, Tom being all nice and innocent…

Well, little Harry had come to understand that what his brother did was acting and that he manipulated people like that. And thus he had known that his own weapons were his so-called adorable good looks and, particularly, his eyes.

He didn't use the tactic often, only sometimes, and it always worked, especially if he cried and looked helpless and vulnerable. Why, it even worked on Tom and his brother never seemed to be aware when he purposely used it with him.

Little Harry inwardly grinned devilishly at that thought.

"So you knew…" muttered Tom trailing off, still skewering him with his gaze. Then he scoffed loudly. "You little imp."

"But it doesn't mean that I want to do it," snapped Harry instantly, crossing his arms over his chest, then huffing. "And why should I be the one who falls? That hurts. We should take turns-"

"It won't work if I fall," hissed out Tom, looking just as stubborn as his little brother. "I'm not 'cute'-" he said this with evident stoic pride "-only you are. So you have to be the one who falls."

Harry scrunched his nose, not at all pleased, before he mumbled, "Fine, I'll think about it, then."

"No," bit out Tom angrily, narrowing his dark blue eyes at him. "You must agree  _now_ , and commit to it and-"

"HARRY - TOM? HARRY?" Alice's panicked shouts reached their ears at that moment, the woman evidently having been searching for them for some time.

Harry shot his brother a toothy grin and made his bid for escape, trotting out of the alley with a cheerful skip to his steps.

His brother soon followed after him with a darkly vexed expression on his face – but that was just fine, Harry wanted Tom to seethe and simmer for a while, it was only fair since his brother had been so mean to him that day.

Eventually, little Harry did cave in to Tom's relentless insistence, and cajoling, and threats. And the Riddle brothers soon perfected their act.

For the following four years, shopkeepers and owners all around London would be puzzled when they discovered that one or two of their wares had gone missing. They would ponder about bad management or thieving customers or even shop attendants who filched at their workplace.

But they would never think about the two orphan boys who had visited their shop except to remember lovely tearful emerald eyes amidst beautiful features which mesmerized and captured their hearts and dark blue eyes in an elegantly handsome face which made them let out a fluttery sigh.

* * *

That night, as Tom reread his collection of newspapers clippings about Germany and the Nazi ideology, as he pondered about the happenings in the world, as he darkly smirked when he eyed Alice's Communist pamphlets, and as he gazed down at his little brother who was sleeping curled up beside him, he came to many conclusions and some decisions.

Many of them were based on what he knew about his little brother, who had proven to be just as special as he himself was. Indeed, three years ago, and a couple of months after Tom had hurt Dennis, Harry's special abilities had burst forth. The boy had been five years old.

Musing about this, and about what he knew loomed in the near future for England and Europe, Tom felt too restless and excited to be able to sleep. And he decided to take a stroll around the corridors of the orphanage. It would help him clear his mind before attempting to rest again.

That night, in his wanderings around the orphanage, what he would overhear and then would be told, would shake him to the core, the consequences of it being many and profound throughout the years.


	4. Part I: Chapter 4

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

This chapter is a slow one, mainly laying foundations for things that will pop up later.

In the next chapter there will be a time-skip, to get things rolling.

And the last scene in this chapter will be continued on the next one – I'm trying to make the chapters shorter so that they can be more easily digested. I failed with this one, though. It ended up being rather long *grimaces*

Anyway, I hope you enjoy it, and constructive criticism is always welcomed!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 4**

* * *

As Tom silently strode along one of the dark corridors of the orphanage, hearing the distant sounds of the caregivers bustling about as they finished their nightly duties, his mind swirled with tumultuous thoughts which refused to be abated from everything he had been reading lately.

He mused, most particularly, about the Nazi's ideals. Aryan race, they called themselves, and some journalist said the distinction of this assumed ethnic superiority was based primarily on coloring – blue eyes and blonde hair which denoted pure German ancestry.

Yet Tom thought this was a flimsy notion at best; at least a third of the German population were dark haired or dark eyed - their leader, Hitler, most conspicuously. However, the Nazis declared that not only such coloring indicated who belonged to their master race, but they also gave importance to handsomeness, to symmetric and pleasing facial features and to physical perfection, such as height, and strong and sturdy limbs, which gave way to excellence in sports.

Moreover, and most importantly, they attributed to themselves an unparalleled acuity and sharpness of mind. They even said that their superior intelligence could be evidenced in the shape of their heads.

This too was utter folly in Tom's opinion. Indeed, he knew himself to be a prodigal genius, probably the greatest one in the whole world, and yet the shape of his skull was as normal as could be.

There was nothing particular about it, he mused as he pensively touched his temples and then the back of his head, while he continued with his distracted amblings around the orphanage, taking the flight of stairs to reach the ground floor.

And if intelligence and physical perfection were the parameters on which the Germans based their superiority, then Tom thought that if there was anyone who could be hailed as 'superior', it was only him.

Well, and his brother as well, he supposed - not only because of their breath-taking handsomeness, as it was called by others, but due to their 'special abilities'. As far as he knew, they were the only ones in existence who wielded such strange and unexplainable 'powers' – to call them something. That alone already marked them as unique and vastly superior to everyone else in the world. This idea deeply pleased and satisfied him, since it made sense and seemed logical and rational.

However, not for the first time, he wondered if there could possibly be others like him and his brother. Ever since he had discovered that Harry was special too, he had pondered about it, his feelings warring and clashing, still making him indecisive on whether he wanted them to be the only ones or if it would be best if there were others like them.

Nearly three years had passed since Harry's 'powers' had manifested, and Tom still hadn't reached a conclusion regarding the matter. He remembered the incident clearly, it had happened a few months after he had hurt Dennis and had explained it to Harry.

They had been five years old then, and since it had been summer, all the children had been playing in the orphanage's backyard.

Ever since he had hurt Dennis, the older boy had stayed far away from him. The other children also gave him a wide berth given that they had become even more fearful of him since the 'incident'. Tom had been quite satisfied with this outcome.

That day, Tom had gone back inside the house to pick up one of his books, leaving Harry playing with his friends.

Later, Tom had heard his brother's own account of what had happened.

Harry hadn't paid much attention when Tom had left, since Dennis had so far avoided him. But it seemed that the bully instantly noticed when Tom was missing, because Harry had been cheerfully giggling one second as he played with Eric and Billy, and in the next second, stones started to pelt down on him.

It was Dennis, who had taken the opportunity to start hurling at him the stones he had been playing with. It had hurt a lot, and as much as Harry tried to cover his face and body with his arms, it wasn't enough.

The other children who were also scared of Dennis, as usual, didn't do anything. So little Harry had been forced to run for cover, but that seemed to incite the bully even further, since Dennis started hurling at him even larger stones as he gave chase, shrieking with laughter and spewing mocking insults.

And then, suddenly, as Harry continued running and he cried because his whole body seemed to ache from the hits, as he wished and wished that everything could stop and that he was somewhere safe, then, one second he was there and in the next moment, he landed somewhere else. Harry had gawked when he had abruptly found himself in the middle of his room.

Tom had seen it, of course. With book in hand, he had been going back, taking a step to cross the threshold between house and backyard, when he saw his little brother running away from Dennis, flailing his small arms to attempt shield himself from the hurled stones.

He had felt an instant bout of tremendous fury and was about to unleash it on his brother's tormentor once again -and this time to make Dennis hurt beyond all endurance of pain, so that the bully would be left as nothing but a mindless, empty-eyed shell – when the most extraordinary thing happened.

His little brother simply disappeared, right in front of all the children's eyes. Tom had gaped.

He had wasted no time in swiftly looking around for Harry, his mind spinning with clashing thoughts and emotions. At last, he found his little brother standing in the middle of their room, his shoulders shaking.

When Tom had thought that Harry was crying and trembling with fear, his expression softened and his mind cleared, leaving him simply feeling jubilant that his brother was special, just like him. He had been exceedingly proud then, and even excited.

But soon, he had seen that Harry wasn't fearful.

The moment Harry glanced up and saw him, he jumped up and down as he rambled eagerly and joyously, "I disappeared, Tom! I was running and then I was wishing to be somewhere else, and then I felt as if I was squeezed through a rubber tube, and then I was here!"

And just at that very moment, Tom's emotions had drastically changed. He had felt rage and contempt and envy; he had been unique up until then, only he could do extraordinary things, and now his little brat of a brother had suddenly done something he hadn't.

Tom had never vanished from one spot to another, and it galled him that Harry had accomplished something so amazing first, before it even crossed his mind that such thing could be possible. Harry had bested him in that regard and it was not something he could stand.

And his little brother had kept yapping about it as if it was the greatest thing since sliced bread, and it had only made him feel even more furious.

Tom had shot him his most withering and scornful sneer and had turned around on his heels, slamming the door shut behind him.

For the following three months he had utterly disregarded his little brother, he hadn't even spoken one word to him; he had shoved him away every night when his little brother attempted to get into his cot so that Tom soothed his scar after the nightmares, and he had ignored all his little brother's confused, wounded and pleading glances.

But even though he did all those things, he hadn't stop observing Harry from afar and what he had seen over those three months had made all of his dark emotions increase and mount and pile up and flare.

He had seen Harry doing other things, as if something had opened and burst forth from within Harry, more strange abilities blooming and pouring out.

One day he had awoken and he had seen Harry sitting up on his cot, the boy's hair suddenly reaching his shoulders and with a pair of scissors in hand. The boy had cut locks of his hair and in an instant they grew back, and his little brother giggled and did it again. And then he shortened his hair without the need to do anything and then made it long again, and so forth.

Once he had seen Harry sitting by the row of flowers at the backyard, and the boy had had a closed bud in his hands and it suddenly bloomed magnificently, gorgeous big petals unraveling open, as leaves grew and fluttered along the stem.

Sometimes when Harry had his nightmares, their cot frames would shake and the nightstand rattled and their wardrobe's doors would flap open and shut. Snarling with anger and vexation, Tom had been forced on those occasions to hurl a book at his brother's head, to brutally wake him up. And without uttering a word of comfort, Tom had always shot him a contemptuous sneer before rolling over to give Harry his back and go back to sleep, ignoring his brother's sniffles.

It had gotten worse when the rabbit had been brought to the orphanage. During those three months of estrangement between Tom and Harry, when Harry played with his so-called friends with the animal, the bunny would suddenly jump, flip in the air and land back, or flick its ears as if in synchrony to some tune, or stand on its two hind paws and take steps forward – all things that were clearly abnormal, that his little brother was clearly making happen.

The boy's friends soon realized it, but they didn't look at Harry with fear, but with wonder and fascination. And they quietly whispered among themselves, encouraging Harry to make the rabbit do more funny things when there were no adults around.

To add insult to injury, a couple of times when his little brother was playing with his friends, some toy would simply fly into Harry's hands or disappear from its place and pop right beside him, and his friends clapped and cheered even more.

It had been the last straw for Tom when he had seen his brother playing with that stupid little simpering girl, Amy, who was always around Harry, blushing and staring at him like a love-struck mooncalf.

The girl had been playing with a hair ribbon, and Harry had taken it from her hands, widely smiling at her as the string of cloth suddenly fluttered into the air and started coiling itself, soon forming a pink bow which Harry had then timidly presented to the girl as if he was some sort of gallant knight wooing his demure and abashed princess.

The second Amy had gazed wide-eyed at Harry, entranced and worshipfully, her rosy cheeks flushing and her lips puckering into a beaming, coy smile, Tom had jumped to his feet, taken a few strides to reach them and had grabbed his brother by the scruff of his shirt, forcefully yanking him out of the room.

Without saying a word, as a perplexed and alarmed Harry attempted to fight against his brusque hold, Tom had started dragging him towards the staircase, to reach their room in order to have a private 'chat' with him.

However, his endeavor had been interrupted when Alice had burst through the corridor, running and picking up toys and things littering the hallway, as she beamed and shouted urgently and excitedly, "Children, gather around in the parlor, we have visitors!"

Awestruck and startled, everyone had gaped at first; Harry's friends poking their heads out the door to stare at her, gobsmacked. Then everything had exploded in a flurry of activity, as Alice grabbed Tom's and Harry's hands, pulling them back inside the room, and as Kathy quickly arranged the rest of the children in one neat row.

That had been the first time that St. Jerome's Orphanage had received any prospective adoptive parents and most of the children were too nervous and surprised to do anything but stand in place whilst fretfully attempting to tidy up their ruffled and tattered clothing and their scruffy appearances.

All the while, Alice and Kathy finished tidying up the room, just as Mrs. Sharpe, clearly having had one too many glasses of gin, had entered the room with an unsteady step, a couple following behind her.

Tom had narrowed his eyes at them, scrutinizing them, seeing the expensive clothes, the air about them of elegance and wealth, the pinched expression of mild disgust on the man's stern face as he eyed the peeling wallpaper and the ratty furniture and the expression of reserved expectancy on the woman's delicate features.

Alice soon took command of the situation when it was evident that Mrs. Sharpe wasn't clearheaded enough to do her job, and she quickly chatted with the couple in a hushed and brief conversation before she started introducing them to the first child on the line, in descending order of age.

And then, Tom had glanced at his brother who was standing by his side, both of them the last in the line. Harry's emerald eyes had been wide with awe and excitement, as he cheerfully waved a hand at the visitors, rocking on his feet and widely grinning.

It hadn't come as a surprise for Tom when he saw the couple halting in mid progression along the line of children, their gaze snapping to Harry, the woman's eyes lightening up, a soft smile forming on her painted lips as her expression softened, while the man's eyebrows rose and his gaze turned calculating and then satisfied and pleased by what he saw.

It had been then that Tom had known how to best teach his brother the important point he had wanted to drive through Harry's thick skull that day.

Meanwhile, the couple had reached them and the woman had been already cooing at Harry as the boy answered one of her questions by puffing out his chest, grinning toothily as he stuck out four fingers as he chirped proudly, "I'm five!"

Even the stern-looking man had given a small smile at that, and the couple soon pulled Alice to a side as they started murmuring amongst themselves. By then, Mrs. Sharpe was slumped on a chair at the other side of the room, sleeping off her drunken stupor, while Kathy made sure that none of the children broke the line or misbehaved.

Inevitably, some parts of the conversation between the couple and Alice reached Tom's ears, but none of it fazed him. He impassively stared at them, shooting Alice a calm smirk when their gazes met.

"… yes, Harry is a dear, sweet boy, but you see, they're twins," was saying Alice fretfully, as she shot a perturbed glance at Tom. "It wouldn't be right to separate them… now, if you wanted them both…"

The man's gaze briefly landed on Tom. "… he's handsome, I grant, but we only want one child and my wife is quite set on the small boy-"

"Tom's very studious and astoundingly smart," quickly interjected Alice. "A prodigy, I would say, and he's very… er, well-mannered and polite-"

When it became evident to him that Alice would to go any lengths to ensure that Harry and he would not be split up, Tom decided to act before the caregiver started to outright lie and spout that he was a sweet, good-natured child or some such thing.

After all, he had no intention of being adopted by anyone. The orphanage was a ghastly place which he despised with all his heart but at least he was just one of many children, and thus wasn't too closely supervised. Having adoptive parents, though it certainly entailed having a better lifestyle and could open more doors to a glorious future, also meant having two people butting their noses in his affairs and watching what he did, constantly.

He wasn't about to swap one form of authority for another. It was independence from any adult that he wanted, and of course, where he went, Harry followed. He didn't even consider that he could be robbing Harry from having a better life. His brother's place was with him, always.

Swiftly, Tom pulled Harry towards him, leaning down to whisper into his brother's ear, "Go to them before they change their minds and leave. Tell them you want to speak to them alone, to get to know them. Take them to the backyard -it's sunny outside- and then show them what you can do. Do the flower thing-"

"What?" Harry gaped at him, evidently at first startled that his brother was talking to him after being given the cold shoulder for three months, and then looking nervous as he stared at him with wide eyes, as he mumbled, "You know? You've seen-"

"Of course I know about the things you've been doing, you idiot," hissed out Tom angrily, before he quickly composed himself and rearranged his features to a pleasant and calm expression as he soothingly patted his brother on the head, his voice turning soft, "But we'll talk about that later. Now go and do as I said."

"You want me to show them? With the flower?" whispered Harry, gazing up at him uncertainly as he bit his lower lip fretfully. "Are you sure? Won't they-"

"Yes, I'm sure," snapped Tom with annoyance, then sweetly smiling at him as he continued gently, "They'll see that you're special and they'll like you even more for it."

Little Harry gazed at him dubiously, mulling over it, before he apparently decided that his brother had to be right. After all, Tom was way smarter than him. He beamed, already excited about the prospective of doing something nice for the couple and chirped cheerfully, "Alright."

And with that, Tom merely inwardly smirked with satisfaction as he watched how Harry bounded up to the couple and tugged on the woman's skirt, peering up at the rich lady as he started babbling and pointing a finger in the backyard's direction.

Tom didn't even pay attention to what was being said. In a few minutes, the couple and Harry made their way outdoors, leaving Alice looking a bit perplexed. The caregiver even shot him a concerned and sad glance, as if worrying what would happen to Tom if the couple decided to adopt Harry and take him away right there and then. He simply answered by calmly gazing back at her with an unperturbed expression on his face.

Soon Alice had other things to worry about when the rest of the children finally figured out that Harry had won and that they were indeed not wanted or liked. And as some of them broke into tears and sobs and others sullenly sulked or scowled, Tom slipped away from the room and down the corridor.

Reaching the kitchen, he stood at its farthest end, right in front of the window above the sink, gazing out through the glass panels with an unencumbered view of the whole backyard.

Tom's lips twisted as he gazed at the sickeningly sweet picture the trio made; the stylish and well-to-do couple doting on a poor little orphan boy, happily yapping as they all sat on the old bench amidst the shrubbery, no doubt already making plans about the wonderful life they would give to their little Harry.

By the looks on their faces, the wealthy couple appeared to be already enchanted by Harry. And by the gentle and loving way the woman was gazing down at his brother, it was clear to Tom that they indeed intended to treat Harry well and give him all the boy could ever need or want. Not that it really mattered.

A self-satisfied smirk curled Tom's lips as the events unfolded as he had hoped for. Good little brother that Harry was, the boy was doing exactly what Tom had instructed him to do.

Crouching down, Harry plucked a small flower bud from the nearest plant, presenting it to the woman. The lady beamed, clearly finding it adorable that she was being gifted a flower in such a sweet gesture, but before she could accept it, Harry shook his head as he widely grinned, lifting up his palms to display the nice thing he could do. In an instant, the bud in his hands unraveled in a gorgeous array of colorful petals, as leaves burst from the stem, and the flower floated up into mid air, as it kept growing and blossoming even further.

The woman's horrified shriek interrupted the display, the couple jumping to their feet, the woman staggering backwards and almost toppling over the bench. Her husband soon pulled her upright and then away as the woman's scream continued, their faces pale and terrified. In the next second, they turned tail and ran as if the hounds of hell were after them, the man's booming voice reaching Tom's ears as the couple entered the house.

"… I don't know what kind of twisted joke… what kind of demented circus you're running here... we're never setting foot in here again!"

Wiping the smirk from his face as he calmly strode into the corridor, Tom saw all the children and caregivers huddled near the entrance door, having heard the screams and no doubt perplexed when the man spat those words at Alice before he yanked his pale-faced and stammering and mumbling wife out the front door.

Tom had a second to savor the conclusion of a plan well made, before Harry burst out from the door leading to the backyard, instantly catching sight of him.

Sobbing uncontrollably, looking scared, crushed and miserable, he yelled at Tom, "I did what you said – you knew, you lied – I HATE YOU!"

Wretchedly crying and hiccupping, Harry turned his back on everyone and swiftly scrambled up the staircase, the sound of a bedroom door being slammed shut resounding seconds later.

Alice swiveled around to stare at Tom in confusion, as if asking for some sort of explanation to Harry's strange and incomprehensible accusation, while the rest of the children animatedly burst with questions. Tom didn't even miss the way that Kathy Cole was gazing at him with narrowed eyes, suspicion and condemnation in them.

Looking extremely concerned and troubled, Tom stared back at them with wide eyes as he murmured apprehensively, "I'll see what happened. I'll calm him down."

And with that, he quickly made way towards his bedroom. He found Harry huddled on his cot against the corner, his body curled up in a small ball, with his head bowed and tucked between his knees as he sobbed quietly.

Tom tsked and approached the boy. Staring down at Harry's heaving and trembling shoulders, he drawled in a severe tone of voice, "Have you learned the lesson?"

Harry's sobs stilled and the boy gave one last hiccup, before he lifted up his head to hatefully glare at Tom with a tear-stained face, as he said hoarsely, "What?"

Tom skewered him with an unforgiving gaze as he said curtly, "The lesson, you pea-brained idiot, that you must never show to others the things you can do." He contemptuously sneered at him as he added, "For three months you've being parading around, doing stuff around your friends-"

"No one saw!" yelled Harry as he unfurled from his curled up position to glower at his brother. "I never did anything around the grownups-"

"But your so-called friends can blab about it," snapped Tom angrily, sitting down on the cot by Harry's side. "You cannot trust them-"

"They promised they wouldn't say anything," snapped Harry heatedly as he wiped his eyes with his shirt's cuff. "They like the things I can do-"

"Because they are stupid and don't understand, because they're amused by it, but they will soon realize that what you do is not normal." Tom pierced him with his dark blue eyes as he added sternly, "When they're older, they'll know, and they'll tell on you."

"They won't," gritted out Harry, though he eyed Tom uncertainly as he nibbled anxiously on his lower lip. Then he frowned and glared daggers at him as he said accusingly, "But you made me do the flower thing! You say now I shouldn't do that stuff but you-"

"Because I wanted you to see the consequences of it," interjected Tom impatiently. He shot him a superior look as he demanded curtly, "How did they react?"

Harry's eyes teared up as he mumbled softly, "I think they were afraid..."

"You think?" sneered Tom with condescension. "They were afraid of you, and what's more, they hated you for it."

"Hate me?" echoed Harry in a tiny voice as he stared at him with wide eyes, his expression miserable as his small shoulders hunched.

"Yes, that's how people will react if they know," said Tom sharply with utter conviction, pinning his brother with an unrelenting harsh gaze. "And they would lock us away in a loony bin, too. Do you want that?"

Harry's eyes impossibly widened with fear as he quickly shook his head, and Tom was momentarily pleased by it. Indeed, the latter he had said was no lie - not in its entirety.

He had once overheard Kathy Cole telling Alice that they should call some doctor to check his head. Apparently, Mrs. Cole was quite certain that he suffered from some dangerous psychological problems and that a stint in an asylum was the best remedy for him.

The day when he had overheard that, he had known fear for the first time in his life, imagining what it would be like to be alone, cooped up in a small room without seeing daylight for the rest of his existence.

Granted, Kathy Cole had never said anything about having Harry checked by any doctors, but it was best if his brother was scared of it all the same. It was a miracle that, in the three months that Harry had been 'entertaining' his friends, none of the caregivers had seen anything unusual going on.

It was thus that Tom had extracted from Harry the promise that he would never again do anything 'special' in front of others, and thankfully Harry obeyed and only did things when they were alone in their room.

It was that way, too, how in the subsequent years in which several couples came to the orphanage, Harry never again drew attention to himself, and simply stood in line, with a bowed head and staring at his shoes, without saying a word when the couples attempted to speak to him.

Tom had thoroughly convinced his brother that if any couple liked Harry, then that they would be torn apart and never see each other again, and that the couple would end up carting him off to the loony bin if they ever adopted him. Not that Harry had needed to be further convinced about any of it – for the little boy it became stuff of nightmares to imagine any life away from his brother's side.

Nevertheless, that day after the disastrous affair with the first couple that had visited the orphanage, Harry had still moped around the house, looking dejected and miserable.

It had been that night when Tom had decided to finally introduce his companion to Harry, as a way of cheering up his brother and also because he had been very curious about the outcome of the meeting. For some years he had kept her only to himself, possessive of her and with no wish to share her with his brother, but after Harry had given evidence that he could do special things just like Tom, he had wondered how far their similarities reached.

Just before the caregivers started rounding up the children to force them into their bedrooms for a night of sleep, Tom had slipped to the backyard in search for his companion's nest in the depths of the shrubbery. Carrying her back to the house, coiled around his forearm under his sleeve, he had uncovered her before Harry's gaze.

"What's that?" had gasped out Harry in awe, staring at the small, scaly creature with wide eyes.

"A snake, you idiot," drawled Tom with irritation, unimpressed with his brother's limited wits or deductive abilities. "What else could she be?"

"It's a she?" murmured Harry softly, now staring at the slim creature coiled around his brother's arm, no longer than Tom's arm from wrist to elbow and no thicker than a finger.

His wonder and eager curiosity was plain on his features as he took a step closer to admire the gleaming, tiny green scales which had a bluish or black hue to them.

" _Yesss, I'm a girl_ ," hissed the little snake proudly, as she reared forward to flick her tongue out to taste the boy in front of her.

With a yelp of alarm, Harry jumped in the air, tripping and landing on the floor on his bum, panting out a haggard breath as he stared up at the creature with huge eyes.

Pointing a shaky finger at her, he gasped out, still startled out of his wits,  _"It speaks!"_

A thin smile of satisfaction stretched on Tom's face, his gaze fixed on his brother, as he hissed quietly,  _"You do understand her, then?"_

" _What? Of course I do – it speaks in English!"_  sputtered Harry, gawking at the creature as he picked himself up from the floor, his eyes as wide as moons. In the next second, an expression of sudden understanding and fascinated awe crossed his expression, as he chirped happily,  _"Are you a princess turned into a snake? Like the princess in Alice's story that became a swan because the evil witch cursed her?"_

" _A princess?"_  hissed the snake, swaying her head to a side, giving the impression that she was seriously pondering about the matter, though it was evident that she didn't fully understand the notion.

" _She's not a princess,"_  snapped Tom with irritation, not for the first time damning Alice and her stories, for filling his brother's head with moronic ideas. _"People don't turn into animals, Harry."_  Then he transferred his glower to the snake and hissed sharply,  _"And you're not a girl, you're a female. That's the proper term since you're an animal and not a person. How many times do I have to tell you?"_

" _I understand, Master,"_  hissed the small snake, her tone contrite as she settled her head back on Tom's hand.

" _Master?_ " Harry gaped, his emerald eyes flickering from his brother to the creature and back.

Tom superiorly smirked at him as he slowly trailed his fingers along his companion's length, caressing the small, smooth scales.  _"Of course I'm her master. It's only proper she addresses me as such. She's mine, after all."_

Harry blinked and then stared at him with a dubious expression on his face, finally simply giving a shrug as he wrapped his mind around the fact that his brother had discovered a snake that could speak – and in English to boot!

" _It's amazing,"_  he breathed out, his awed gaze fixed on the beautiful snake. A wide grin grew on his face, as he rambled excitedly,  _"How did she learn how to speak? How did she learn English? And are there others like her-"_

" _Learn English?"_  hissed Tom, a low chuckle escaping from his lips as he shot his brother a smirk.  _"She doesn't speak English. She doesn't 'speak' at all, not in the strict sense of the word. And you haven't been speaking English either, you little twit."_

He pierced his brother with his dark blue eyes, his expression turning arrogant and self-satisfied, as he added, his tone turning quiet and slow,  _"She hisses, just as you have been hissing all this time. Just as I'm hissing right now. Listen carefully to my voice, to my words… what do you hear?"_

Little Harry's expression of confusion soon turned into one of startlement as he did as his brother asked, for the first time really concentrating hard out of his own will.

" _What are you hearing, Harry?"_  continued Tom, his smirk widening as he gazed down at his brother's awe-struck face.

" _Hissing,"_  mumbled Harry, his small forehead scrunching with a perplexed frown,  _"but English too… like... the words being on top of it… like hearing both at the same time."_

" _Exactly,"_  hissed Tom with satisfaction, as he nonchalantly continued petting the snake, gracefully sitting down on his cot.

" _But – but, I don't understand,"_  spluttered Harry, as he also took a seat on the cot, yet in sharp contrast to his brother, just plopping himself down on it. He peeled his gaze from the snake to stare at his brother, bewildered, as he said nervously, "What's going on?"

"I thought it would be quite plain to you," said Tom, shooting him a sneer before he continued stoically, "We can speak to snakes – understand their language and speak it as well, when we're looking at a snake or thinking about one." He shot him a wide smirk, as he added gleefully, "No one else can, Harry. I tested it. It's clear, this is just one more special thing we can do."

"Oh!" breathed out Harry, his eyes becoming wide as he gazed back at the snake. In the next instant, a giddy grin broke on his face, as he chuckled happily and comfortably stretched himself on the cot, to peer at the snake closer.

In no time at all, the small snake was oozing contentment and satisfaction under Harry's pampering ministrations, with the boy giggling as he caressed and tickled her scales, and chuckling when the snake's tiny tongue flickered out to taste his fingers.

" _What's your name?"_  hissed Harry as he adoringly scratched the snake under her belly, as she had requested.

"I named her Nagini," said Tom curtly, eyeing their interaction with a reproving expression on his face.

Harry's gaze snapped up to him at that, and he snickered as he declared gleefully, "You took it from that story that Alice read to us – from The Jungle Book, Rikki-Tikki-Tavi! Nag and Nagaina were the two bad snakes-"

"I most certainly did not take the name from that stupid tale for silly little children," snapped Tom in indignation, shooting him a contemptuous sneer before he continued sternly, "I made the name up, from the Greek term Naga, which means snake, and the term-"

"Yeah, sure," interrupted Harry with a snort, "whatever you say."

Tom fulminated him with a poisonous glare, but before he could continue defending his unparalleled intellect, Harry was already yapping happily with the snake, no longer paying any attention to him.

If Tom had known what a bad influence on Nagini that Harry would prove to be, he would have never introduced them to each other. The little snake became a chatterbox, just like Harry, and not a cold night went by when the two of them wouldn't chatter away until the wee hours of morning.

At least Tom managed to forbid Harry from interacting with Nagini during the day – it would garner unwanted attention and raise suspicions if Harry began sitting in front of the shrubbery in the backyard, as Tom did, instead of playing with his so-called friends.

However, during winter nights, with the excuse that it was too cold outside for Nagini's health and comfort, Harry always snuck the snake into their bedroom.

The boy had whined and pleaded and cajoled until Tom had had no other choice but to yield to his brother's wishes if he wanted to spend a night in peace, and he had grudgingly allowed Nagini to coil herself in between their bodies to bask in their warmth.

Such was the enjoyment that they derived from each other, that Nagini even came to display some of Harry's mannerisms, which irritated Tom to no end. At least Tom made sure that the snake retained the proper respect due to him when they interacted with each other. With him, she behaved accordingly, not forgetting who owned her, and acting as the sensible, serious, and cunning snake that Tom had first known.

Nagini was still somewhat of a mystery to Tom. In the years that had passed since then, she had barely grown and he was quite sure that it wasn't normal.

On the other hand, he didn't know much about snakes – she was the only one he had ever seen and he knew that it wasn't usual to find snakes in London. He also knew that her first recollections were of breaking out from a cracked egg, in a pile of rubbish in London's docks.

He could only deduce that she had been shipped in from some distant country, her egg no doubt being one of many inside a crate that must have endured some damage and must have had a crack in its wood boards. He imagined that as the dock workers loaded the crate onto a cart-wagon -most probably destined for the London Zoo- her egg had slipped out from the crack and ended up rolling into a pile of litter.

She had found her way to the orphanage's neighborhood, since it was quite close to the docks, and had soon made it her home, finding bountiful prey, since being as poor as it was, their neighborhood had quite a large population of rats and mice.

Regardless, the thought that swam around his mind as he remembered those events was that something was not right in what was happening in the world.

From everything he had read in newspaper articles, and from what he had found out about from Alice's Communist pamphlets, a vague, foggy thought had been growing at the back of his mind - not fully formed, but tickling him like an itch he couldn't quite reach and scratch to his satisfaction.

As he halted to gaze out the window by the orphanage's entrance door, seeing all those rows of houses with their inhabitants placidly and cozily sleeping with not a care in the world, Tom scoffed snidely.

Everyone out there was carrying on with their lives as if all was well, naively believing whatever the government said. What did they think it meant when the Germans said that their prime goal in foreign policy was to secure living space for their race?

They were all mindless, half-witted sheep, but he had always known that about the masses. It didn't bother him at all. It didn't even concern him that Jews were being persecuted and carted off to labor camps – as Alice's Communist pamphlets speculated. He really couldn't care less about the Jews and those other types of people who were disappearing.

It seemed quite logical to him that the Nazis would employ the strategy of blaming someone for the disastrous circumstances in which their country had been reduced to after losing the Great War. And he fully understood their motives.

They had chosen the Jewish race as their scapegoat, just as plain and simple. It was the oldest tactic in the world, and one that always worked. It was human nature to be so petty, cruel, selfish, and opportunist, and he prided himself to be the one person who saw people in their crude reality.

Thus, he wasn't like every half-brained imbecile out there. He knew what was coming: War.

And it filled him with a blazing feeling of exhilaration and excitement. Wars always caused interesting changes; they shaped nations and caused the rise and fall of empires, they gave rise to fortunes for those who were smart enough to take advantage of it, they stimulated the formation of new ideas and innovations, they rearranged social structures, and they always ended up having the same consequences, the doom of many becoming the prosperity of some.

He wanted to be one of those 'some'. He would need to figure out how to benefit from it, because it was quite clear to him that he couldn't let such a precious opportunity pass him by.

And suddenly, just as that thought contently spun in his mind, it all became sharply clear to him. The revelation that had eluded him for some while and which had kept him sleepless that night, abruptly blossomed in its full glory: everything was staged too perfectly and seamlessly, the timing too precise to be natural or just mere coincidence.

Mussolini and his Fascist government in Italy; just recently, a civil war bursting in Spain, with a General called Franco leading an African Army against the insurgents, a man who clearly supported the Fascist movement as well; and then, the Nazis in Germany. Those three were natural allies given their similar ideologies, and he wouldn't be surprised if their leaders were already secretly negotiating their terms.

And of course, to all that, adding the Communists in Russia, with the Industrialists in Britain and the Capitalists in America fearing that it would spread to their lands, and with a Communist uprising in China as well, if one of Alice's pamphlets were to be believed.

The world seemed to him like a giant chessboard in which all the pertinent pieces were being moved with uncanny precision across the squares, by a great invisible hand which knew exactly how to arrange matters to have it all explode in one blazing war which would be far more encompassing than the last one.

And without a doubt, much more devastating. After all, this war would be carried under banners of ideologies. And when it came to ideologies, religions, and such self-righteous notions, everyone became much more ruthless and vicious. Oh, yes, someone knew precisely what they were doing.

Tom's lips quirked into a wide, gleeful smirk, his expression one of both bemusement and satisfaction. Yes, now he finally understood. There had to be some actors orchestrating things behind the scenes. A group of people, surely, for no one man could plan and execute something so great by himself. Not unless he was a genius, and Tom couldn't conceive the notion that anyone could be such a prodigy as he himself was.

He was intrigued, thrilled and excited, but above all things, he was deeply pleased with his discovery. The whirlwind of his thoughts finally settled itself to become a calm mantle in his mind, thrumming contently. And he exhaled, ready to finally go back to his room for his night of rest.

Tom was about to turn on his heels to take the flight of stairs up to his floor, when something caught his attention out of the corner of his eyes – a shadow moving, a light at the end of the corridor.

His curiosity piqued, Tom instantly moved towards it, careful to make no noise with his footfalls. He soon saw that the 'shadow' was Billy Stubbs clutching his rabbit against his chest – no doubt the creature had escaped from the boy's bedroom and Billy had been roaming the corridor in search of the little beast.

What made Tom frown, however, was that the boy was frozen in place, standing beside the parted door of the kitchen from which a dim light could be seen.

As Tom made his way towards the boy to find out what was going on, the voices from the occupants of the kitchen started reaching his ears.

"… if Harry has asked you to know more about 'their' parents, then this time you must tell him the truth, Alice!" came Kathy Cole's voice, stern and sharp. "It was what we had agreed upon initially. I said nothing when you told the boys that they were non-identical twins, that first time. But now they are old enough to be told the truth."

"It would crush him! Harry is so attached to Tom, he worships him, and he's not mature enough to-"

"It's not Harry you worry about in this case, Alice. You don't fool me," snapped Kathy Cole impatiently, her tone now harsh and relentless. "You don't want  _Tom_ to know, because God knows that he won't take it well and that once he knows, Harry won't be able to appease him any longer or to keep him in check. But I think it's worth the trouble, precisely because Harry adores Tom. That can't be allowed to continue. Tom is a bad influence on the boy and Harry deserves to know that they aren't brothers!"

"In a few years I'll tell them, Kathy," said Alice pleadingly, her voice soft. "Listen to me…"

A sort of strangled squeak issued from Billy's throat when he finally saw Tom standing beside him, as still as a statue and with a horrible expression on his face. Billy alarmingly paled, his eyes growing wide with dread and fear as he saw the dark, ominous look on the taller boy's face.

Instincts of survival kicking in, Billy took one more look at Tom, and before he gave a chance for the other boy to realize it or do anything about it, Billy squashed Puffy the Bunny against his chest and turned tail, dashing down the corridor and soon disappearing from sight.

Tom noticed, but for once, he didn't care. Kathy's last three words were still echoing in his mind with stabbing force – 'they aren't brothers!'. He felt such a tempest of clashing emotions, with such intensity as he had never experienced before, that for several seconds he wasn't able to move or even think; burning rage, mingled with a sharp pang of loss and grief and bitter disappointment, meshed with fiery hatred, they were all coiling and raging within him.

Yet, in the next second, all of it was abruptly doused under a chilly mantle of terrifying fear, shaking him to the core.

The very idea of the consequences, of knowing that the bond that had tied them together would be inevitably weakened, that Harry would no longer have reason to always remain by his side, to be always there, loyal, steadfast and needing him, wanting his company and preferring it to all others, yearning for his approval and attention. Imagining how Harry would grow apart from him, how the boy would carry on easily making friends as always and no longer dreading being separated from him…

He couldn't let it happen.

Harry  _was_ his brother; they were alike, they were both special and unique. That counted more than any ties of kinship. Harry had always been his, since the beginning of his awareness and as far as he could remember. His brother, his companion, his counterpart - his to teach, to mold, to protect, to ridicule, to hurt, to torment, and even to twist and corrupt and destroy if he wanted to. That was true possession and ownership over someone and he had always had it over Harry. And he wouldn't let anything or anyone pose a threat to it.

The very idea of it instantly prompted him to act.

Tom unceremoniously slammed the door to a side and strode inside the kitchen, the two arguing women freezing as their gazes landed on him.

"You won't tell him – ever," spat Tom, his voice as hard as grating rocks as he skewered them with a dark blue gaze burning with contempt and seething hatred. "But you will tell me, right now."

Kathy Cole was the first to gather back her wits after her startled shock, and with a stern expression on her face, she said curtly, "What are you doing up so late? And you have no business spying on us-"

"I wasn't speaking to you, woman," hissed out Tom, his eyes narrowing to slits as his expression turned darker. "You'll do well to remain silent if you know what's good for you." His gaze flickered back to Alice. "Speak."

Mrs. Cole, not one to allow to be spoken to in such tones, casting to a side all lingering sense of prudence, pulled herself up to her full height, pinning him with a hard gaze of her own. "Look here, child, you'll show proper respect and-"

She choked. Suddenly she was being squeezed and crushed, all air heaving out from her lungs as she gasped for breath, her eyes bulging, her frame shaking so violently that she stumbled backwards and crashed against the table of the kitchen. Frantically clawing at her throat with her fingers, in a state of absolute panic, she tried to scream – it only came out as a gurgle.

"Kathy!" Alice instantly reached her friend and grabbed her by the arms, steadying her. "Kathy, what's happening? Are you ill, are you-"

"It seems she's having a fit of some sort," came Tom's cool, nonchalant voice. "Perhaps she's having a stroke?"

Alice's eyes snapped back to him, wide and bewildered, her gaze then flickering from him to Kathy and back. Nervous, frightened and uncertain, she nevertheless made her friend take a seat and started unbuttoning the first buttons of Kathy's shirt, as she fanned her with a hand.

"You-" gasped out Kathy, her voice raspy, hoarse and still struggling to come out from her throat, as she pointed a weak, shaking finger at Tom, her bulging and watering eyes fixed on him. " I know – this, is your doing-"

Tom arched his eyebrows at her, his expression utterly blank. "Oh?"

"Somehow-" croaked out Kathy, but in the next instant her eyelids fluttered shut and she slumped over the table, her head loudly banging against the hard wood.

Alice cried out in alarm, fretting frenziedly over her, ripping open Kathy's shirt, leaving only the undershirt beneath, checking her pulse with fingers on Kathy's throat and pressing her head against her friend's bosom, searching for the heartbeat, as she muttered, mumbled and rambled without knowing what she was saying.

"It seems that she simply fainted," said Tom impassively. "I'm sure she'll be fine in a few minutes."

Alice shot him a glance with wild eyes, but there, faintly, she suddenly felt Kathy's pulse and she deeply exhaled with relief. Still badly shaken after the experience, she gripped the edge of the table with white knuckles, suddenly feeling very out of her depth.

"What else should we do? I don't think it was a stroke, the symptoms weren't those of a stroke, I don't know what happened, I don't know what it could be, maybe-"

"Nothing, she's fine. As I said, she just fainted," said Tom curtly, cutting short the caregiver's scared ramblings and not even sparing the unconscious woman a glance as he took slow steps to stand right in front of Alice, piercing her with intense, dark eyes. "While she recovers, you can start speaking."

Alice shot him a disconcerted glance and sputtered, "But Kathy-"

"Tell me the truth now!"

Alice felt the boy's voice like a whip lashing against her flesh and shattering her bones, and she unwittingly took a step back, jaw slack, before she came to her senses.

Taking a steadying step forward, her expression crumbled into one of pained compassion, as she said softly, "I will tell you the little we know."

Tom listened to her attentively, his face showing nothing but a composed expression as the words seemed to burn themselves into his mind, as he grew angrier and more furious by the second. What he and Harry had been told was that they had been left at the orphanage's doorstep, wrapped together in blankets, that they were twins, non-identical, and that nothing was known of their parents.

"… 'Tom', after your father, and 'Marvolo' as a middle name, after her father. 'Riddle' as a surname since she said it was your father's family name. Your mother died not much later after that. That's all Kathy knows. Regarding Harry, we know nothing about his parents. There was no letter left with him when he was placed outside our door, only his first name embroidered on his clothes… " Alice trailed off as she finished relating the events in a quiet tone of voice.

"Marvolo," said Tom slowly, a glint shining in his dark blue eyes as he tasted the name on his lips, rolling it on his tongue. But any gleam was soon gone as his gaze flickered back to Alice, his expression turning impenetrable as he said curtly, "So my mother simply died? You didn't mention if she was ill."

"She wasn't. At least none of the caregivers who were present at the moment noticed anything wrong with her health," muttered Alice in a quiet tone of voice. "But it's clear that…" She cleared her throat uncomfortably, before she met Tom's piercing eyes and continued in a mellow tone of voice, "When terrible things happen to people, when they are unable to overcome them, sometimes it happens that they lose the will to live."

She gazed at him with a compassionate and warm-hearted expression on her face, as she continued gently, "There's no doubt in my mind that your mother loved you greatly, Tom, and you shouldn't hold it against her that she died. Some bad experience must have broken her spirits-"

"Save your pity and your paltry platitudes and sentimentalities for yourself," hissed out Tom acidly, piercing her with contemptuous, narrowed eyes, before he stood straight and took one menacing step forward, his voice lowering ominously, "You'll say nothing to Harry about this. I'll tell him my own version of events – where, obviously, he'll be my twin, just as you have made us believe all this time. Do you understand?"

Alice looked uncertain for a moment, feeling warring emotions inside herself – after all, she had always had every intention of telling the boys the truth when they were older. But to keep quiet about it, to never tell Harry…

"Do you understand?" repeated Tom harshly, with such ringing force that it seemed to crash and resound against the walls.

A sudden chill ran down Alice's spine, abruptly making her feel extremely cold. She even had the impression for a second that her breath had come out as a puff of white air. She felt herself inching away from the boy before she became aware of it, and something prompted her, something in the child's ominous expression, just made her nod her head – her promise given.

"And you'll convince her to keep her mouth shut as well," added Tom, disdainfully gesturing at the unconscious Kathy Cole.

Alice nodded jerkily once more, remaining mute, her wide eyes fixed on him.

"Good," said Tom curtly. Then, abruptly, he shot her a thin, satisfied smile.

Alice was only able to blink as the boy strode out of the kitchen.

* * *

"Where have you been – what happened?" Harry instantly demanded the moment Tom returned to their room, as he rubbed the scar on his forehead which still throbbed with lingering pain. He shot his brother a miffed scowl, as he added, "Your anger woke me up. So spill the beans, you owe me."

Tom scoffed, though he took his place at his brother's side, snuggling against him to keep warm under the covers, and then started relating his own version of the story in a curt tone of voice.

The moment Tom finished and the room was encompassed in absolute silence, Harry bit down on his lower lip, peering up at his brother as he said in a wobbly, sad little tone of voice, "So mum died after she had me and didn't have time to give me a second name?"

"Yes," said Tom coolly, as he stretched an arm under his head and stared up at the stained ceiling.

He shot a side-glance at his brother, seeing Harry's sorrowful expression- the boy's bright green eyes were even shinning with tears- and he had to bite on his tongue to not lash at the sentimental little fool.

Deciding to derail the conversation, he cleared his throat and shot Harry a smug look. "But since unlike you, I do have a middle name and I rather like it, from now on you'll call me Marvolo."

"Will not!" retorted Harry heatedly, for a moment forgetting all mournful thoughts to shoot his brother a resentful scowl. He huffed as he added, "It's a strange and stupid name and it's not fair that you have a second name and I don't-"

"It's not stupid," hissed out Tom indignantly, darkly glaring at him. His eyes narrowed as he spat out with disgust, "'Tom' is stupid. 'Harry' is stupid. Both are common names. There are thousands of people out there with our names-"

"I don't care," snapped Harry, "I still like our names and I won't call you Marvolo-" his small button nose scrunched with dislike- "ever, so there. Besides…" He trailed a finger over his brother's clothed chest, drawing little circles, as his voice lowered into a soft tone, "… our names are like our mum's gift to us. It was the only thing she could give us before dying…" He peered up at his brother with huge, uncertain eyes, as he added in a small voice, "She must have loved us a lot, right? Since she came here to have us, and she named us and all-"

"If she had loved us, she wouldn't have died," interjected Tom curtly, shooting him a harsh, chiding glance. He narrowed his eyes and hissed out acidly, "She was weak, she was a wretch and she was pathetic-"

"Don't talk about mum like that!" bit out Harry hotly, instantly jumping to roll over Tom and squash him under his weight, pressing his nose against his brother's to glare at him. "Take it back!"

"You deluded little idiot," spat Tom, forcefully shoving Harry off him as he sat up to skewer him with an incensed glower. "You don't even know what type of woman she was. I bet you anything she was something horrible – it wouldn't surprise me if she had been a whore or some such thing. Only whores have babies in orphanages, after all."

He shot him a sneer when he saw Harry's crushed expression at those words, and added with cold relish, "And our father is either dead or he's alive and couldn't care less about us and left us here to rot."

"Not true," mumbled Harry, his expression downcast as he gazed down at his small, fisted hands." I know it's not true." He glanced up at Tom, new hope shining in his emerald eyes as he piped in, "I bet that dad is out there looking for us. Maybe bad people have been stopping him from finding us. And all these years he must have been fighting them and looking all over the country for us. And soon he'll find this orphanage and he'll see us and-"

"You're pathetic," sneered Tom with disdain, rolling to a side to give Harry his back. "Believe whatever idiotic little fantasies you like." His voice turned low and quiet as he added in a curt whisper, "The truth of the matter is that we're alone. We only have each other."

At his brother's hushed statement, Harry's anger faded away and he remained seated at one side of the cot, eyeing Tom's back as he bit down on his lower lip.

He soon stretched himself at his brother's side, pressing his small chest against Tom's back as he threw a short arm over his brother's shoulder, murmuring softly, "Don't be mad."

Tom didn't answer, his shoulders and spine still remaining stiff, and Harry eyed him uncertainly before he gave his brother a brief squeeze as he pressed his forehead against the nape of Tom's neck, the silky locks of black hair brushing and tickling his nose.

Not wanting to argue again about their parents, since it was obviously a touchy subject for both, Harry voiced another hopeful thought that had crossed his mind, "So… I was born minutes after you – are you sure? Maybe I was first, and Kathy doesn't remember well-"

"You're the little brother, Harry, not I," scoffed out Tom, without turning to face him. "Facts are facts. Now go to sleep."

Harry harrumphed, his hopes of being able to rub in Tom's face who was the real big brother among them dashed, but a small grin broke on his face all the same, for Tom had relaxed under his arm and seemed to be pleasantly dozing off.

Nevertheless, no matter what Tom had said, that night Harry vouched that if their dad never appeared at the orphanage, then that one day he would go out in search of him.

That night, his dreams were filled with vague images of a tall man with a joyous expression and a big loving smile on his face as he hugged Harry and Tom and took them away to a small, cozy house. For once, terrible, menacing crimson eyes and flashes of blinding green light didn't spear through the foggy clouds of his dreams.

* * *

The following morning, Tom slipped out of their shared cot, taking care of not waking Harry up. He was one of the few early risers in the orphanage and never waited for one of the caregivers to come by, like Harry did, who always lazed about in their bed for as long as he could.

However, that morning, Tom had a specific reason for quickly making his way to the ground floor and the orphanage's playroom, since Billy Stubbs was one of the others who was out and about before the caregivers made their rounds - not willingly, but because that rabbit of his was squirming for freedom and wanting to hop around by sunrise.

As soon as Tom entered the room, he saw what he had expected and hoped for. Billy Stubbs was already there, sitting crossed-legged in the middle of the floor, with Puffy the Bunny on his lap, being petted and worshipped.

Throughout the years, Tom had had a vast number of reasons for wanting to show Billy Stubbs his place, but he had so far refrained from tormenting the boy. He didn't like to admit it, but he had done so for Harry's sake. Now, however, circumstances had changed.

"Hello there, Billy," said Tom placidly, as he took a step to tower over the sitting boy.

Billy's head shot up so suddenly that it seemed as if some bone in the neck must have cracked. The boy's brown eyes were immense as he stared up a Tom, his mouth parted open, the lips now trembling as he stuttered out, "H-hullo T-Tom." An attempt of an ingratiating smile wavered on the boy's face as he paled.

"You must know what this is about, yes?" prompted Tom calmly, though his eyes narrowed as he pinned the boy with his dark blue gaze.

"I didn't hear anything – I swear!" burst out Billy, as he shot up to his feet, tightly gripping his rabbit against his chest, and clearly ready to take flight as far away from Tom as possible. "I won't say anything to anyone – promise!"

Tom's hands immediately shot out, with one grabbing Puffy the Bunny by the ears and ripping her out from Billy's protective embrace, with the other harshly gripping the boy by the neck to keep him in place, as he hissed out ominously, "I know that you won't say anything." He shot him a dark smirk as his eyes narrowed menacingly, "Because if you do, your fate will be the same as Puffy's here."

"What are you going to do with her!" cried out Billy as he attempted to recover her from the other boy's clutch as Tom held her up high in the air. "Leave her alone, she's done nothing to you-"

Billy Stubb's pleads and shrieks went deaf to Tom's ears as his gaze quickly scanned the room. His smirk widened when he caught sight of one of Amy Benson's hair ribbons lying on the nearby table, the piece of cloth unknotted, long and thin – perfect.

A second later, rabbit and cloth shot up in the air, rising fast towards the ceiling. In the bat of an eyelash, the string coiled itself around the bunny's soft, fluffy neck and then its end spun around one of the wooden rafters. Gravity seemed to be restored in the next moment when the rabbit dropped a few inches, the coil of cloth twanging like the release of a tense string of a drawn bow, as a frantic yipping sound came from the bunny as its white limbs jerkily flailed in spasms.

"NO!" wailed Billy as he sobbed wretchedly, but Tom halted any movement by brusquely holding the boy by the jaw, forcing him to watch the rabbit's strangulation.

"That will happen to you if you ever say a word to anyone about what you overheard last night," hissed out Tom, sinking his short fingernails in the boy's sunken cheeks. "Is that clear?"

Billy froze, his eyes wild as he stared up at Tom. Soon, Tom's nose scrunched when a pungent odor reached him, and he glanced down at the boy's pants in disgust, seeing a wet stain spreading over Billy's crotch.

Suddenly, as noises reached his ears of the footfalls of the running children that had awoken and were making their way to the playroom, Tom was forced to violently shake Billy to yank him out of his terror-induced stupor.

"Is it clear!" snapped Tom harshly, skewering the boy with narrowed eyes.

"Y-yes," stuttered Billy simply, his frame now trembling.

Abruptly, the door was yanked open and a chirpy voice said with curiosity, "What are you two up to – PUFFY!"

Harry dashed by Tom's side like a flash of a blur, crying out in dismay as he leapt forward towards the dangling bunny. In the next instant, the piece of cloth snapped and the rabbit dropped into Harry's awaiting arms, unmoving. A second later, children and caregivers poured into the room, no doubt their quickness encouraged by all the yells coming from within, and Tom instantly stepped backwards into a shadowed corner.

"What's all this ruckus about?" demanded Mr. Jenkins gruffly, his small black eyes narrowing as his gaze flickered from Harry and the rabbit, to Billy who still stood petrified in the middle of the room, face pale and tear-streaked, pants stained with urine, and then to Tom, who never escaped the brute's notice no matter where he hid. "What's happened here?"

No one answered. Harry was now eyeing the caregiver with dread, any grief for the bunny's death and anger towards his brother due to it, now at the back of his mind, as his gaze uneasily flickered from Tom to Billy to Mr. Jenkins and back.

"Well, explain yourselves!" bellowed Mr. Jenkins as he towered over Harry, his gaze lowering until it landed on the bunny. His small beady eyes narrowed as vicious glee crossed his ugly features. "The rabbit's dead. Who did it?" He licked his lips as his eager gaze snapped from Tom to Harry, then to land on the petrified Billy. "Who killed your pet, boy?"

Billy remained silent, his shoulders hunched and his head ducked as he stared at his shoes, unmoving.

Anger soon swept over Mr. Jenkins' face as he spun around and approached the mute boy, raising up a meaty hand, clearly with the intention of delivering a backhand to slap the truth out of the boy.

Alice sprung into action that instant, moving forward and planting herself in front of Billy, facing the other caregiver with a hard expression on her face. "You will not hit the boy. He's clearly not at fault here."

Mr. Jenkins eyed her with smoldering contempt as he snarled, "You'll do well to mind your place, lass, or you'll soon find yourself kicked out to the streets, jobless and with not two pennies to your name."

The threat seemed to have no effect on Alice other than keeping her in silence, since she bravely remained standing protectively between child and man.

Sensing that things would soon be spiraling out of control and take a turn for the worse, Harry armed himself with valor. Mr. Jenkins was the one person he truly dreaded and even feared, but he hoped he could find a way out of the mess.

He realized that the piece of cloth that he had somehow snapped, and was still dangling from the rafters, hadn't been noticed by anyone, except Kathy Cole who was eyeing it with a frown on her face, her suspicious gaze flickering from it to the corner where Tom stood.

"It was me," murmured Harry quietly, pressing the dead bunny to his small chest before he raised his head to meet Mr. Jenkins' narrowed eyes, his voice gaining strength as he continued, "I killed Puffy. It was an accident. I tripped and stepped on her, and her neck must have broken-"

"It-t wasn't H-harr-y," came Billy's whispery, stuttering voice.

Harry bit his lower lip in sheer frustration, not at all happy that his friend had decided then to stand up to his defense.

Mr. Jenkins' limited patience was clearly coming to its end, as he spat, "Then who, boy? Speak up!"

However, it seemed that Billy feared someone else much more than he was afraid of the caregiver, and the boy clamped his mouth shut with such force that his lips turned white.

Harry deeply sighed and turned around to gently lay the dead rabbit on the nearby table. Squaring his shoulders, he swiveled around once more to face the man, as he said insistently, "It  _was_  me."

Suddenly, a hissed exhalation of displeased annoyance resounded as Tom took several steps from his corner to stand in the middle of the room, his expression blank as he stared up at Mr. Jenkins and said coolly, "Harry's lying to protect me. It was I who accidentally stepped on the rabbit."

Harry's eyes grew large as he stared at his brother in utter astonishment.

Cruel glee and eagerness swamped Mr. Jenkins' face once more as he grunted with relish, "Thought so. It's always you, ain't it?" A meaty hand latched itself to the back of Tom's neck and he started to brusquely yank the boy out of the room, as he added with a satisfied snarl, "You know the drill, boy."

"No!" burst out Harry, spurred into action and rushing to their side, remembering the state in which Tom always came back when Mr. Jenkins punished him. Granted, Harry himself wasn't immune to the man's vicious brand of disciplinary action, and it terribly hurt all the times when the palms of his hands had been canned until they bled, but he at least healed fast. "It was me, I tell you-"

"Enough!" growled out Mr. Jenkins in fury, glancing back at him with a glower. A nasty gleam suddenly shone in his eyes as he bit out, "If you're so set on sparing your brother then at least you'll watch and learn from your brother's mistakes." His small beady eyes then bore into Alice as he spat, "Bring him."

Appalled, Alice's blue eyes widened as her hand automatically grabbed Harry's shoulder as if she could somehow whisk him away to someplace safe. "I don't think this is necessary-"

"Bring him along, girl!" bellowed Mr. Jenkins, before he turned around and harshly gripped Tom by the nape once more.

With her jaw clenched and a look of pained impotence on her face, Alice gently grabbed Harry's hand and proceeded down the corridor, following Mr. Jenkins' steps. She left Kathy behind to take care of the rest of the children, and particularly Billy Stubbs who was still alarmingly pale and didn't seem to be in full possession of his senses or in control of his bodily functions.

Mr. Jenkins reached Mrs. Sharpe's office and yanked the door open without bothering to knock, brusquely shoving Tom inside, like a victorious conqueror who brought amusing prey to torment.

As they all stepped into the room -Harry fully dreading what would happen, Tom looking impassive and indifferent, and Alice praying to God that someday they could all be rid of Mr. Jenkins– it became clear to all that Mrs. Sharpe had spent her night slumped on her desk.

Bottle and glass of gin were knocked over the table, its liquid contents spilled all over a disorderly mess of papers and documents, her hair a disarray of grey curls haphazardly dangling from a bun, and her face plastered on a newspaper on which drool had formed a small puddle.

Mr. Jenkins took one look at her and then proceeded to bang the door shut with a resounding slam. Instantly, Mrs. Sharpe jumped in her seat, eyes foggy and unfocused for a second as her gaze roved over them, disconcerted.

Mr. Jenkins grabbed Tom by the scruff of his shirt and yanked him forward giving him a violent shake, as he announced gleefully, "The boy has killed Billy Stubb's rabbit."

Mrs. Sharpe's eyes sparkled with interest at that, and a small, thin-lipped smile curled her painted lips as she said with a raspy voice, "I see. He must be punished then, of course."

"He certainly must," agreed Mr. Jenkins, sounding as if it was a well rehearsed script between them as a prelude to a mutually enjoyable spectacle. Then he shoved Tom forward, making him nearly bang against the sharp edge of Mrs. Sharpe's desk. "Assume position."

Harry's hands tightly clenched into fists as he saw Mr. Jenkins reach for a birch cane which had its own special perch on top of a chest of drawers. As Tom calmly unbuckled his shabby belt, starting to pull his pants down, Harry took a step forward before he knew it.

He halted on his tracks when Tom snapped his head to a side to shoot him a piercing look of warning, clearly conveying that Harry was not to interfere or else. Harry sank his small teeth on his bottom lip as Alice, who stood by his side, became as tense as a bow-string.

"You're a bad seed, just as Father Patrick says," spat Mr. Jenkins as he returned to stand before Mrs. Sharpe and her desk, cane in hand while he yanked down Tom's pants and undergarment until they hung loosely under the boy's small, taut buttocks.

Tom gripped the edge of the desk without saying a word, and a wide, nasty smile filled with rotten teeth spread on the man's face at the sight, as he continued, "There's the Devil inside you, boy, there is. But we shall beat Him out of you, won't we?"

No reply came and it was clear that Mr. Jenkins didn't need any to motivate him.

Meanwhile, Mrs. Sharpe was sitting straight up on her chair to afford her a direct view, her dark eyes shining with enjoyment, as she waved a hand and declared importantly, "You can proceed."

Mr. Jenkins graced her with one of his twisted smiles as he raised the cane in the air.

"I'm doing this for your own good, boy," he said with vicious relish, as he brought the cane down in a full arch, producing a twang as it sailed through the air and then a horrible noise as it struck smooth flesh.

Harry winced and his teeth sank deeper into his lip as he saw his brother gritting his teeth, but not a word came from Tom. The only evidence of pain was the knuckles of the hands that gripped the desk turning white, and the line of raised, red flesh that now ran along Tom's backside.

A nasty chortle came from Mr. Jenkins as he announced, "This time we will make it twenty and not our standard ten. What do you say?"

Harry gasped and looked at him, aghast, and his expression only turned even more horrified as Mr. Jenkins employed the full strength of his meaty arm to keep delivering blows which became more savage and brutal as the minutes ticked by.

Alice, by his side, had her eyes tightly shut, her own expression one of pain, her lips pressed into a thin, pale line, with her hands clenching and unclenching jerkily.

Grunts were ripped from Tom's lips as his buttocks became a crisscross lattice of bleeding rows of broken skin, and Harry felt his breathing coming out as haggard pants. Not only seeing it happen was much worse that merely seeing the results, but his scar was flaring in pain with all the seething hatred and murderous rage that was blazing in his brother's mind. And suddenly, Harry could only see red and he became strangely dizzy and frenzied.

"Twelve!" declared Mr. Jenkins with a crow of laughter, as Mrs. Sharpe eagerly clapped her hands in approval of a punishment that was being well executed. "Eight more to go, boy – you'll learn your lesson, mark my words!"

"STOP!" yelled Harry frantically, the words tearing out his throat before he knew what he was doing.

"You, clamp your mouth shut or you're next-"

Shards of glass suddenly pelted forth in a blast, and Mr. Jenkins' threat was lost in the exploding sound that reverberated in the room, as Mrs. Sharpe shrieked and dropped for cover under her desk.

Alice had immediately reacted instinctively, not only throwing herself to the floor but pulling Harry with her as she used her arms to cover as much of the boy as she could. Tom, with his ankles entangled in his pants and undergarments, had also leapt to a side and to safe cover. And it was thus that Mr. Jenkins was the only one who received a face-full of volleying shards of glass.

The man bellowed in pain as he rolled to the floor, making a greater mess of his face by attempting to rip out the shards with his meaty fingers.

"Wh- what- wh-" sputtered Mrs. Sharpe, her eyes wild as she took everything in, though not moving an inch to help anyone.

"You fool!" hissed out Tom with livid anger, briskly pulling his drawers and pants up and buckling his belt, before he dug out Harry from under Alice, brusquely pulling his little brother up to his feet.

Alice gawked at the blasted window behind Mrs. Sharpe's desk, which had no glass panels left, and when Tom's hushed, furious words reached her ears, her gaze snapped to Harry, her eyes growing wide.

She didn't quite know what had happened and she couldn't make sense of the crazy thoughts rushing through her mind, or of the way that Harry was looking deeply contrite or how Tom seemed to believe that his brother was to blame, or even of Kathy's belief that last night Tom had somehow attempted to suffocate her to death.

But as Mr. Jenkins kept bellowing in agony and fury, and as Mrs. Sharpe kept shrieking for some sort of explanation and the name of the guilty party, Alice rose to her feet and found herself pointing at the broken window as she said loudly, "A boy in the street hurled a stone, I saw. Then he ran away."

Momentarily shocked with herself, though knowing what had motivated her as her gaze landed on Harry and Tom who were now staring at her in surprise, Alice then gathered back her wits, knowing they had to leave the office as soon as possible.

"Mrs. Sharpe, I think it would be best if you could tend to Mr. Jenkins' wounds, if you will?" she said quickly, as she grabbed both boys by their arms. "And I'll take Tom to the Punishment Room and Harry to his bedroom-"

"Yes, yes, take them away," snapped Mrs. Sharpe with angered annoyance, dismissively waving a hand at them as she crouched to peer out the window, as if expecting to see the urchin who had dared to throw a stone at her window.

Alice didn't waste a second in pulling the boys out of the office, and the three of them remained awkwardly silent as they made their way up the staircase.

It was Harry who broke the tense air surrounding them as he said in a small voice, "Do you have to take Tom to the Punishment Room? He hates it-"

"Shut up," snarled Tom at his brother, making Harry hang down his head like a scolded puppy who was fully aware of all his misdeeds.

"I have to take him there because it's what Mrs. Sharpe and Mr. Jenkins expect," said Alice reasonably, finding strength in the mere act of following procedure. "If I don't, it will only be worse for Tom."

They reached the boys' bedroom and Alice opened the door and gently pushed Harry's back to make him go inside, as she said, "Get in your bed and wait for me. I'll be right back."

"Bed?" Harry gaped at her. He was almost eight years old already – practically a grown-up! Harry fumed. And grown-ups weren't told they had to go to bed, and besides...

He stared up at Alice and then said with a small whine, "But it's morning-"

"A bit of extra rest, given recent events, will do you good, I'm sure," interrupted Alice, then shooting him a stern glance when Harry mutinously pouted at her. "Go."

Harry huffed but obeyed nonetheless, and Alice proceeded to take another flight of stairs with Tom, to reach the attic and the small, lightless cupboard at its end which was known around the orphanage as the Punishment Room - the one place which Tom, in particular, was vastly acquainted with.

Neither of them said one word to each other, and Tom for his part felt relieved. His backside felt like a mass of burning, flayed skin, but not even the feeling of rivulets of blood trickling down his legs prevented him from concentrating all his efforts in walking as if nothing was the matter with him. He would be limping if not. Though, he knew that no great amount of willpower would spare him from being unable to sit for a whole week.

Tom gritted his teeth as he climbed up another step. And for all that, he had his little imbecile of a brother to thank.

* * *

Harry was fretfully turning on his cot and already dreading any questions Alice might ask, when the caregiver came back to his bedroom.

Alice seemed to be calm as she took a seat on the cot, eyeing Harry pensively for a moment without saying a word.

Then, she gently caressed the boy's wild mass of hair as she murmured quietly, "What happened in Mrs. Sharpe's office?"

"Nuthin'," muttered Harry, staring up the ceiling, though he couldn't help fluttering his eyelids shut in contentment as Alice kept soothingly carding her fingers through his hair – there was nothing he liked more than that.

"Harry…" she said chidingly, but then she trailed off uncertainly, not entirely sure if she really did want to know.

She deeply sighed and then warmly smiled at the small boy when she saw his expression, like a little kitten being gently petted and purring in pleasure.

"Alright, I will not ask," said Alice at last.

Harry's bright emerald eyes cracked open at that, and he graced her with a beaming smile.

Alice chuckled as she caressed his cheek. "And just for that smile, it's worth keeping my questions to myself and not think about the matter further."

"Thank you," whispered Harry, clutching her caressing fingers and giving them a soft squeeze as his smile turned into a grin.

Alice nodded and then cleared her throat as she inquired dubiously, "Is Tom claustrophobic? Or is he afraid of the dark?"

"Clastro-what?" Harry shook his head and piped in, "He isn't scared. He just doesn't like small places or the dark." He shot her an impish grin, as he added, "He never admits it, but I can tell."

Alice had to repress a wince. It was clear that Tom's stint in the Punishment Room wouldn't be a pleasant one for the boy. Alas, there wasn't much she could do about that.

She shook her head and then pulled the covers up to Harry's chin, as she said softly, "Now try to sleep for a bit."

"But I'm not sleepy," mumbled Harry, his lips pursing stubbornly.

"Shall I sing to you my mother's nursery rhyme?" offered Alice gently. "It's your favorite, and it always works like a charm and makes you sleepy."

"Alright!" chimed Harry, an eager sparkle in his green eyes as he burrowed placidly under the covers, to then peer at her expectantly.

"Once upon a time, there was a good little wolf, mistreated by all the lambs," began to sing Alice softly, her voice slowly raising and then lulling like soothing, cradling waves. "Once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon. There was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate. There were all these things, once upon a time…"

She trailed off, waiting for Harry to sing the last part of the rhyme, as had became a tradition for them.

"When I dreamed of a world turned upside down," murmured Harry sleepily, as his eyes fluttered shut and a yawn escaped from his lips.

Satisfied, Alice smiled and waited during a few more minutes until soft, peaceful snores could be heard, and then she gently pecked Harry on the forehead before she took her leave.

The instant Alice left the room and Harry heard the sound of her footfalls fading away, he jumped out of the cot.

He grabbed pillow and blanket and then carefully cracked the door open, poking his head out and peering at both sides of the corridor to make sure no one was wandering about.

With a wide grin on his face, Harry scampered up several flights of stairs until he reached a small, short ladder. Haphazardly climbing it with pillow and blanket under one arm, he managed to open the trap door at the end of the ladder and climbed into the attic.

Sneezing once as dust tickled his nose, he made his way through old, broken furniture and all sort of miscellaneous, abandoned items of no value which littered the floor. Finally, he reached a small door no higher than his chest. He placed his pillow and blanket on the dusty floor, quickly making full use of them by lying down, resting his head on the pillow as he attempted to see something through the crack under the door.

He tentatively knocked softly on the small wooden door, as he whispered quietly, "Tom, it's me."

"Go away," snapped Tom's voice acidly.

"No," bit out Harry mutinously, glaring at the door. "I'll stay here all day and night with you."

An aggrieved groan came through; muffled, but the irritation conveyed was unmistakable.

"Alice won't mind when she finds out," continued Harry, ignoring the sound, his tone now cheerful. "So I'll keep you company."

"Hn."

Not at all discouraged by his brother's less than gracious grunt, Harry babbled on eagerly, "So what do you want to do? Maybe we can play some game or tell each other fairy tales or make funny animal noises and guess which animal it is or I can bring Nagini if you want and we can play with her-"

"Don't you ever stop talking?" hissed out Tom's voice with annoyance. He paused for a brief moment before his voice turned hasher and angry, "You realize the idiocy of what you did in Sharpe's office, don't you?"

"I didn't mean to blow up the window – it just happened," piped in Harry defensively. "I couldn't help it!"

"Be glad that Alice covered for you," snapped Tom's voice curtly.

"She was great, wasn't she?" declared Harry proudly. "She will always protect us, no matter what." He started scratching the door with a fingernail as he added in a cajoling tone of voice, "So maybe we could tell her about the things we can do-"

"No," was the immediate, stern response.

"But she loves us, Tom!" insisted Harry stubbornly. "She would never tell-"

"Perhaps," came Tom's reply, his voice soon turning sneering. "She's the type of soft-hearted, sentimental fool who would always make excuses for us and help us out. And you're right, pathetic people like her are meant to be used and exploited by others. And so we should. It's her own fault for being so stupid-"

"I never said that!" interrupted Harry hotly, glowering at the wooden door in front of him, not liking one bit how his brother viewed Alice – apart from Tom, she was his favorite person in the world.

Tom scoffed snidely. "Never mind. My point is that she's useful, and only that. We won't be telling her anything."

"Fine," groused out Harry.

Silence spread between them, Tom perhaps wishing that his brother had relented and left him alone, and Harry for his part fuming before something caught his eye. An idea sprung in his mind as he watched a little spider climbing up a web not three inches away from him.

"I'm sending you a friend to cheer you up," he said excitedly, as he made the spider jump to the floor and scramble towards the crack under the door. When the spider vanished, he said eagerly, "Are you seeing her? I'll make her dance – watch!"

The sound of a shoe sole slamming against floorboards and a squishy noise alerted Harry to what had happened to the nice spider, and he cried out in indignation, "You killed her!"

"Yes, I did," came Tom's relishing voice.

Scowling, Harry huffed as he protested, "You're such a sourpuss. What do we do now, then?"

"Remain silent."

Harry's dissatisfied scowl deepened before he started eyeing the crack under the door with a speculative and assessing look. A grin soon spread on his face and he tested the waters, sticking his fingers through the crack. His grin widened as he easily managed to put his hand through till midway.

Chuckling, he wriggled his fingers, knowing that his brother could see them. "Look – you could grab them. Come on, you know you want to..."

Harry abruptly yelped when his fingers were painfully squeezed and twisted. "Let go!"

"What you did today," came Tom's menacing voice, "promise to never do something like it again. I can take care of myself, is that clear? So promise or I'll hurt you even more."

Vainly attempting to get his fingers back, Harry yielded and mumbled out his promise, but it was a moot point. He knew that he wouldn't be able to control himself if someone tried to truly harm his brother, and it wasn't something he regretted.

As the grip on his fingers relaxed, Harry immediately started withdrawing his hand, only to halt when Tom said quietly, "If I hold your hand, will you stop your nonsensical chattering and remain quiet?"

Harry blinked in surprise, but then a wide, triumphant grin spread on his face. Though, he made sure of not conveying it, as he said shortly, "Sure."

It was thus that, out of sheer boredom in Harry's case and out of a much needed rest to dull his pain in Tom's, both ended up falling asleep, holding hands through the small crack of the cupboard's door and with equally satisfied and placid expressions on their faces.

* * *

Countless miles away, amidst a dense forest near the German-Austrian border and hidden under heavy, powerful layers of wards, a dark wizard with curly locks of blonde hair peppered with grey at the sides and with hazel, hawk-like eyes, was pacing in his office in the highest level of his tower.

A tower the wizard had built himself, brick by brick, and enchantment after enchantment; the many hidden passages and chambers and the secrets it held only fully known by its creator. Though the motto etched on the entrance gateway of the tower, 'Für das Größere Wohl', was already widely known throughout the wizarding world; sometimes fully advocated and supported, other times murmured with wariness and dread.

It was an afternoon in which the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald found himself pacing as he waited for his guards to bring him his latest prisoner and recent acquisition, who had been 'softened' by a one-month stint in Nurmengard's underground dungeons.

In this occasion, the Dark Lord was sporting his best muggle civilian clothes, since it had been one of those days in which he had apparated to muggle Berlin and participated –as he regularly did- in an exclusive meeting in the Reichstag, where the lead members of the Nazi party knew him as one of the country's most prosperous factories owner and as the Führer's personal advisor. Knowledge, of course, which would disappear from the minds of those muggles the day when Gellert Grindelwald had no more use for them.

As he impatiently awaited for his prisoner's arrival, his hazel eyes swept across his vast office; clustered with countless books of any variety of magical and muggle topics, added to his personal library and collection consisting of only the most unique Dark Arts texts, with numerous magical artifacts scattered among shelves, and detailed maps of Europe, the North of Africa, the Middle East and Asia.

It was in the maps of Europe, hanging from walls or stretched across tables, in which his plans for the War were revealed: with figurines representing troops, divisions of tanks and artillery, and even squadrons of battle-airplanes; with magically drawn lines representing battle fronts and trenches, and arrows depicting the planned deployment of his muggle forces; even with notations regarding the sequences and timing of the conquests, so that his strategies for the muggle war were executed precisely in time with his tactics for the wizarding war.

For such purpose, sometimes, superimposed on the map of muggle Europe, Grindelwald liked to place his map of wizarding Europe, with the marked locations of all the Ministries of Magic or similar governmental facilities, depending on the country, and with notations of the magic to be used, the negotiations to be held, and the names of leaders to either kill, imprison or persuade.

There was one map, however, which wasn't openly on display but rather hidden in one of the office's many secret compartments. This was the map which represented years of historical and archeological research in the quest of finding the one magical artifact which Grindelwald coveted the most.

An artifact lost millennia ago and believed by most to have been long since destroyed. It was such the ancient age of the legendary artifact that Grindelwald's quest in search of it lacked any progress, in stark contrast with his quest of locating the two companions to the wand he held in his hand.

Nevertheless, that evening, Grindelwald expected his luck to change, for he was certain he would rip the truth from his prisoner and finally obtain some leads regarding the artifact's location. After all, for years he had plotted in detail both the wizarding and the muggle war that were about to come, both of which would avert attention from his true quest. With the benefit along the way of having muggles kill themselves in the millions, if everything went according to plan, and with having the Nazis do the tedious work of storing all valuable Jew belongings in warehouses, so that his followers could covertly go through them in search of clues.

Nevertheless, such matter wasn't the only one which he hoped to be enlightened about.

Gellert Grindelwald's hazel eyes roamed over the immense sphere which occupied a vast corner of the room; the Globe, with a diameter as long as the height between floor and ceiling, was a much cherished magical artifact, created by himself from the instructions in a journal of a Dark Lord long forgotten.

It was Gellert's means of keeping track of all magical beings –humans and creatures- all depicted in the Globe's watery-like surface by flames, of varying sizes, colors and degrees of brightness.

How it had amused him when he had seen that, recently, his old 'friend' had increased the frequency of his trips to the French countryside.

It seemed that when Gellert Grindelwald was on the move, Albus Dumbledore didn't leave anything to chance, even believing that Grindelwald could be interested in something so lackluster as Nicholas Flame's Philosopher's Stone.

Immortality had never particularly appealed to a hedonistic wizard like Gellert, who knew himself well enough to foresee that an eternal existence would only end up making him cry out of tediousness. No, Gellert was all for the 'next, great adventure' as his one and only true lover had called it, and would joyfully embrace Death with a crow of chortles when it came, as long as it didn't take him before he accomplished his aims.

Nevertheless, he had been entertained by the comings and goings of the bright orange flame that represented Albus Dumbledore. It was the one flame in the whole Globe which was as large and which shone as powerfully as Gellert's own.

And a flame which never, not once, had moved across the Globe to appear in Germany, but which had been orbiting around other countries - Albus had certainly been busy lately, attempting to form alliances for the British Ministry of Magic in an unofficial capacity, no doubt, and certainly being the only one who had the foresight and depth of understanding to know some of what Grindelwald had planned.

The most powerful light wizard in the world – as evidenced in the Globe – was clearly making preparations to thwart him. But not to confront him directly, Gellert knew that well.

For the same reason that he would leave England and his quest for the two remaining Deathly Hallows for last, he knew that Albus would never set foot in Germany and confront him face-to-face, not unless it became the wizard's last, desperate measure.

Thus, it wasn't Albus' orange flame which he was concerned about, not even some other flames which Gellert had keep tabs on, since those bright flames represented powerful witches or wizards who could be somewhat of threat to him, or possible allies if he so wished.

Rather, what had piqued his curiosity for some years were two flames right smack in the middle of the docks' neighborhood of muggle London.

One of those flames had just, some minutes ago, flared up brightly. The child had done magic, and with some measure of control over it; quite a feat given the child's young age.

He was most puzzled by this bright blue flame in particular, though the black one vastly intrigued him too. It was the latter which he had seen being 'born', and just a year later, a small blue flame had popped right next to it, as if out of thin air.

Gellert was interested in them not only because of the brightness and intensity of their flames –indicating vast and unprecedented magical potential in children who, by his estimates, hadn't turned eight yet- but due to their flames' characteristics.

The flame of the child which had been born nearly eight years ago was almost pure black, denoting a strong ancestry of a dark pureblood line and a rather staggering potential for the Dark Arts.

Nevertheless, it was the other flame which befuddled him the most; bright blue and yet with a strong core of black from which a tendril flared out and connected with the other flame. It perplexed him. Never had he seen such 'connection' between flames on the Globe, and its meaning utterly eluded him.

His pensive musings were abruptly cut short when the door of his office was opened and two guards stepped inside, dragging a witch by her arms.

Gellert immediately strode forth and soon halted in front of her, his lips quirking upwards into a twisted parody of a charming and courteous smile, as he intoned pleasantly in a faultless Greek, " _My esteemed Oracle, I hope your accommodations in my humble abode have been to your satisfaction?_ "


	5. Part I: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thank you all for your reviews, they always keep me motivated!

Now, I would like to clarify some points brought up by some reviewers:

First, Tom and Harry have the same age. When Lily and James Potter were killed, Harry was a one year old baby –I'm following canon here-, and it was that night in which –in this fic- someone took baby Harry and left him at the orphanage's doorstep, as described in the first chapter of this fic. Tom was one year old as well. Alice and Kathy estimated that both babies seemed to have the same age and thus, later, Alice came up with the story that they were twins, given their similar looks, etc.

Second, Harry will be a powerful and independent wizard, but not yet. Some readers are annoyed with Harry's personality, but you have to remember that he's still just a child. We've seen him from ages 4 to 7, so of course that he's going to be childish and immature, he's acting his age.

You can't expect him to be like Tom, who is so adult-like given his innate personality and prodigal mind, nor can you expect him to be like canon Harry who was so moody and broody, and 11 years old in the beginning, by the way.

This Harry wasn't raised by the Dursleys like an outcast in his own home. He was raised in a ghastly orphanage, yes, but with many that adore him. He has been loved and cherished, and he's well liked by all his friends in the orphanage, thus he's much more sociable, outgoing and kind-hearted.

Alice and Harry's friends in the orphanage have shaped Harry's personality in this way, but we can also see how Tom has influenced Harry in the way in which Harry is mischievous and cunning and knows how to use his tears, whining, and innocent looks to get what he wants.

We can also see that he's not easily ruffled by the things that Tom does, he takes them in stride. For example, when Tom kills the bunny, Harry was angered but he didn't cry and have a hissy fit. He's become used to things like that and they don't frighten or scare him. This is part of the beginning of his 'darker' nature, to call it something, and of course, Tom is the cause of it.

On the other hand, we have Tom, who speaks and acts like an adult, for the simple reason that he, unlike Harry, is an outcast in the orphanage. Only Alice and Harry like the boy, and Tom never socializes with the other children, thus he doesn't act like them. He spends all his time reading and studying and thus has the vocabulary and mind-set of an adult. And since he spurns Alice's affection for him, he hasn't been influenced by her. But we can see the way Harry has affected his personality in many scenes, primarily in the one in which he admits to having killed the bunny so that Harry wouldn't take the blame. Also, every time Tom has done something 'nasty', he has had a good reason for it, so I don't think he's being sadistic just for the joy of it. Oh, he enjoys taking revenge and causing pain, but he only does so when he has reason for it, and this is certainly proof of how Tom has been influenced by Harry.

So, in short, we have Harry who is nice, 'cute and adorable' and loves his 'big brother' unconditionally, and we have Tom who is mean and harsh with Harry most of times, but it doesn't mean that Harry is Tom's pet or that he's a doormat.

I think their relationship is pretty well-balanced. Tom can be mean and harsh, but more often than not, he ends up doing what Harry wants, and he's easily softened when Harry starts crying and whining and cajoling – and Harry knows this well.

However, both their personalities will change and develop as they grow up, Harry's in particular. And it is then when we will see how he comes to be a 'powerful and independent' wizard, but for that we will have to be a bit patient.

Third, the boys' 'flames' in Grindelwald's Globe indicate Tom's vast potential for the Dark Arts, and also that both boys have the capacity to be uncommonly powerful - this, and the 'strange link' between the flames, is what has piqued Gellert's curiosity. But it only indicates potential, given the size and intensity of the flames, so it is up to the boys if they become powerful or not. In this fic, like in my others, innate magic has to be nurtured and exercised so that it can grow and be strong and powerful.

Also, Grindelwald will certainly have a major part in the story, mostly by the things he will be doing in the background. Though, it's safe to expect that he will be directly involved with the boys at some point.

And finally, what Tom knows about the Nazis –the details about their oppression of the Jews, homosexuals, communists, and etc- comes from the info he read in Alice's Communist pamphlets. As we all know, the general public, even the Germans, were unaware of the things that went on. It only came to light during the Nuremberg trials after the end of the war, so Tom is dealing with privileged information here, and much of it –especially regarding the 'labor' camps- is mere speculation from Mr. Hutchins and his Communist associates. But all of this will also play a major part in Harry and Tom's lives.

**Note:**

All OC scenes and background info, such as the ones of Alice -and of other characters that will appear- are important to the plot, so I recommend not to skip them, even if it doesn't seem that interesting or relevant.

In this fic, the Wizengamot will not only be the Court of Justice of wizarding Britain but also like a Parliament, where laws and important government decisions are discussed and then approved or rejected- I don't know if this was also so in canon, but it will be in this story. And the Minister of Magic, when it comes to governmental decisions, has the last word.

 _Italics_  will always denote foreign languages or parseltongue.

That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 5**

* * *

Gellert Grindelwald's hazel eyes gleamed when he received no response to his taunting welcoming remark, and he simply watched with unrepressed eagerness as the woman was forcibly dragged further into his office by the two burly guards at her side.

Dressed in clothes that were now nothing more than filthy rags, with trails of dried blood running down her legs and many bruises and infected cuts on face and arms, Gellert could still appreciate the witch's sturdy beauty in the curves that still lingered on her emaciated body; the ample bosom, the small waist and the wide hips, added to large black eyes, a mass of riotous dark curls, a prominent straight nose and a manly squared jaw which only lent more strength and appeal to her Grecian features.

Always one to admire beauty in all shapes and forms, Gellert's lips curved into a smile as the woman was brusquely dropped on an armchair.

Gellert waved his Elder Wand once, and abruptly, magical chains erupted from the stone floor, instantly wrapping themselves around the woman's legs, arms and torso, pinning her in place.

" _Leave us_ ," said Gellert shortly in brisk German, gesturing dismissively at the guards.

With just a sharp nod of their heads and a click of their boots as they snapped their heels together, the wizards then spun around and soon shut the door behind them.

" _Look up at me, dear_ ," intoned Gellert pleasantly, switching to Greek as easily and casually as if he had been raised with it, while he leaned against the edge of one of the tables to be directly in front of her.

Piercing black eyes snapped up to his, and Gellert's twisted smile widened when he saw the fiery spirit in them. No, this witch hadn't been broken by her one-month stint in Nurmengard's dungeons, nor by the prison guards who had had direct permission from Gellert to do whatever they pleased with her, and who had evidently, by her looks, not only tortured her but violated her to their hearts' content.

" _Sibylla Spyros_ _,"_  he said with relish, as he slowly caressed his Elder Wand,  _"what a pleasure it is to have you here at last."_ He arched an eyebrow at her, as he continued placidly, _"And to think that at first, when rumors reached my ears that a female descendant of Cassandra's line existed and lived, I did not believe it."_

Gellert chortled under his breath, as if finding his own foolishness amusing, and then graced her with a blinding smile.  _"Yet that you are, the proof is that your body rejected the Veritaserum plied in your food. I heard that you were ill for many days due to it. Yes?"_

" _Yes,"_ came the response through gritted teeth as if against her will, the witch's voice raw and hoarse.

Gellert's eyebrows hitched upwards, and a sudden gleam entered his hazel eyes as he said gleefully,  _"The legends regarding your line are correct then, you can only speak the Truth. Cassandra's Curse-"_

" _The Curse is not that we can only speak the Truth,"_  said Sibylla tartly, her jaw tightening as the words spilled out of her dry mouth,  _"or that our prophecies sound like lies to all ears or that we are never believed. The Curse is that all our prophecies are of doom and destruction and no matter what we do or how hard we try, they always come true. That's the Curse that has always plagued the females of my line."_

" _I see,"_  said Gellert as he hummed low under his breath, before he pinned her with his hazel gaze, arching an intrigued eyebrow.  _"And yet, you chose to live."_ He gestured at the room and at both of them, as he continued,  _"You must have Seen this. And from what I've been told, when my followers went to Greece to capture you, you were waiting for them in your home, sitting alone in the middle of your room – expecting their arrival and not resisting capture. Why?"_

Sibylla's expression smoothened, with no trace of pain or grief on her bruised face as she replied calmly with a sardonic smile on her lips,  _"As you said, I chose to live."_

Gellert narrowed his eyes at her, before he chuckled and said amiably,  _"You'll have to give me a more enlightening answer than that. After all, I'm well aware that your husband and fifteen-year-old son are hiding somewhere – undoubtedly per your instructions. You wouldn't want to force me to hunt them down, would you?"_

For a moment, Sibylla tightly closed her eyes shut, breathing haggardly as she forced her mind to repeat the answer she had already given. It was the truth after all, and the cause and reason for everything that had happened.

Indeed, as the wizard before her was well aware, she was the only female of Cassandra's line that had been allowed to live past her infancy. When Sibylla had been a seven-year-old girl, living with her mother in an isolated little hut, she had begun having visions and started to understand her Curse and the danger of her existence.

She had Seen, with her Inner Eye, how it had all started with her unfortunate ancestor, a woman who had had a life more wretched and miserable than that of any other.

Cassandra, daughter of King Priam of Troy, had been one of the first true Seers in history, and to date, the most powerful one. As legends went, at the tender age of thirteen, one of her tutors, an old lecherous wizard who was one of the King's priests of the Temple of Apollo, had fallen in love and lusted after the girl. His courtship rejected by both Cassandra and her father, the wizard had cursed her and her descendants before mysteriously disappearing.

Soon after, Cassandra had begun having visions and bespeaking prophecies regarding the destruction of their kingdom. She had been disbelieved, ignored, ridiculed, and even her own family had thought her mad and had imprisoned her. And yet, it all came to happen as she had foretold.

The young girl ended up being a war prize for the victorious King Agamemnon of Mycenae, who forcibly took her as a concubine and had two children with her. It was the man's wife, Clytemnestra, who killed him when he returned to his kingdom. And Cassandra, knowing beforehand her fate, had entrusted her children to a slave and ensured that they would escape unscathed. Then, the young Seer had calmly met her death at Clytemnestra's hands.

How Sibylla had suffered through those visions, feeling her ancestor's piercing grief and sorrow, her wretched impotence and her bottled, burning rage. How Sibylla had further grown embittered as she Saw what came of Cassandra's descendants; all of them with that uncommonly powerful Seer trait, but it was the females who inherited the 'gift' most potently, along with the Curse, and thus, it was the females who were most feared and therefore who were killed at birth. The males' fate throughout history hadn't been a joyful one either; captured by wizards who knew of their line, who forced them into becoming Oracles, or even by muggles of old who still believed in legends.

All of them had had wretched lives. And all of them had made sure that if they spawned a baby girl, they would kill her before she could grow up to be a Seer who would only bring doom and misery with her prophecies and Truth-speech.

It was so, that at the age of thirteen, Sibylla had dared ask her mother why she still lived.

Her mother had married a wizard of Cassandra's line; a poor wizard who had managed to avoid detection and suspicion by working as a mere peddler, never revealing his Seer abilities. And he had been a wizard who, when his wife bore him a daughter, had instantly and fearfully instructed that the baby was to be drowned the following day. But by morning, his wife had disappeared, taking baby Sibylla with her.

" _Why?"_  she had asked her mother, so many years ago when she had been a girl of mere thirteen.

" _Because I wanted you to live,"_  had been her mother's loving and simple reply.

Her uneducated, dimwitted mother who didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions, who was only moved by her profound love for her daughter, it had been her who had irrevocably altered things.

And soon after, when her mother had died, ill and impoverished, Sibylla had taken her words to heart, and had done exactly that – she had lived. She had always strived to live her life to the fullest, with no regrets, with no culpability and owing nothing to anyone, not to wizards or muggles who had done nothing but use and torment the ancestors of her line.

Even knowing how it would all end, and the devastation that her existence could bring, Sibylla had lived for herself, finding love in the arms of a kind-hearted man and only doing one thing to ensure that the Curse of her line would come to an end – she had poisoned her womb before conceiving her son, making sure her child would carry only a weak modicum of Cassandra's Seer trait, making sure, thus, that the Curse would lose most of its potency.

And indeed, her now fifteen-year-old son would be a mediocre Seer at best, and Sibylla knew that her line would end with her son's daughter, and it gave her a deep sense of relief and peace.

It was so, that she was now able to meet the gaze of the dark wizard before her, knowing that her life would end that day and that what she would reveal would further change the future into that which should not have happened.

" _I didn't resist, and I didn't kill myself before being captured,"_  said Sibylla calmly, as she made her tortured body relax against the chains and chair,  _"because I chose to live. And because I don't owe the world and its people anything."_  Her large black eyes pierced into the wizard's hazel ones, as she continued in a strong voice,  _"I have no regrets, no burdens upon my shoulders. I am at peace with myself and my decisions. What you will learn from me and what you'll do with it, will be your choice. And what comes of it, is the choice of many others as well. The choice my mother made, and the choice I made, only play a small part in it."_

Gellert Grindelwald stared at the woman, first with frustrated irritation and then with dark amusement – Seers were known to be annoyingly vague and cryptic with their answers. But it mattered little; soon he would acquire all of her knowledge directly from the source. His gaze flickered from her forehead to the bottomless pensieve on his desk - quite a unique one he had recently acquired for that day in particular.

He waved a hand dismissively, already bored with their topic of conversation. He didn't care about the Seer's motives or where her family was, after all. He had no need for that information, but he still needed other answers before he could proceed with what he had planned. He rather hear it from her directly before seeing it. It was much more amusing and satisfying that way; he always did like to play with his prey for a little while.

Gellert stood up and gracefully made way towards the end of the vast room, flicking his wand, which immediately made Sibylla, in her chair and chains, drag after him. He halted before the immense magical sphere which encompassed a full section of his study, and then turned around to glance at the Seer who now sat before the Globe.

He gestured at the sphere as he said placidly,  _"I'm sure you already know what this is. You must have Seen it, hmm? It's how I managed to find where you were, after all."_  He shot her a crooked smile before he pointed at two bright flames with the tip of his wand.  _"Use your abilities and tell me about them – are they worthy future followers that I should mold or just children who will amount to nothing significant?"_

" _Will they be followers? Not quite,"_  said the Seer coolly, her lips stretching into a harsh smile which seemed to want to mock him.  _"Will they be significant? Oh, very much so, I dare say."_

Gellert's lips thinned into a humorless flat line, and he asked again, now in very simple terms,  _"Who are they?"_

The taunting expression on her face vanished, and Sibylla's mouth hung open as words spilled out of her mouth as if her tongue was being pulled by a pair of tongs,  _"A Slytherin. And a Potter."_

Gellert's blonde eyebrows jumped to his hairline, his expression one of speechless disbelief. A second later, a deep frown furrowed his forehead as he said harshly,  _"It cannot be. The line of Salazar Slytherin's bastard son died out centuries ago. And I would know if there was a Potter meandering about. I've kept close tabs on the members of that family for many years-"_

" _Slytherin's last descendants disappeared from wizarding society many centuries ago, they became recluses, hermits,"_  snapped Sibylla, her expression hard and dark as she gritted the words out,  _"but they still live. That boy is the lost Slytherin Heir."_  Her lips contorted into a sneer of derision as she bit out,  _"And I am well aware of the reason for your interest in the Potters. I Saw that summer night, so many decades ago, when you revealed the deepest of your secrets to your paramour, the details of your quest for the Hallows, the clues you had gathered. How Albus Dumbledore loved you then - such a profound and blind love, such a synchrony of minds and longings, such a perfect match of magical cores."_

Suddenly, she paused and let out a harsh bout of snide laughter, her black eyes gleaming nastily.  _"Young, infatuated Albus Dumbledore was able to piece the clues together, he even remembered the slab of tombstone he had seen near his mother's grave the day of her funeral. He took you there, that night, to Ignotus Peverell's tomb, you both saw the symbol there-"_

Abruptly, she choked on her words when Gellert suddenly poked her throat painfully with his wand's tip, his face contorted in a fierce and wrathful expression, his lips pulled back from his perfect row of white teeth.

In the next second, just as abruptly, his features smoothened and he chortled under his breath, a tight smile twisting his lips.  _"Yes, I dare say I owe Albus for that."_

He ripped his wand away from the Seer's throat and calmly stroked it, though his eyes narrowed as they remained fixed on the witch.  _"As you evidently know already, after that night, we both soon discovered that the Potters are Ignotus' descendants, his Hallow passed down as an heirloom from father to son, the Cloak's mastership bounded by blood to them. Only a Potter can be its master, only a Potter can hand its ownership to me."_  He shot her a crooked, gallant smile, as he added amiably,  _"Thus, you can understand my interest in knowing about this Potter boy. Is he a bastard son?"_

" _No, he's a true Potter,"_  said Sibylla hoarsely, her hands pulling against her chains when she absentmindedly attempted to massage her aching throat.  _"He's out of place, out of time."_

Gellert frowned as he skewered her with his hawk-like hazel gaze.  _"What do you mean by that, exactly?"_

" _I mean just what I've said,"_  snapped Sibylla shortly, her lips curling into a contemptuous sneer.

Suppressing a spike of frayed annoyance, Gellert chose to simply jump to his next question, his mind -already supplied with some astonishing information- was rather occupied in many plans and plots.  _"What about the peculiar connection between the two boys?"_

" _It's a link that has not yet been formed,"_ replied the Seer tartly, once again settling herself in her prison of chair and chains with an air of supreme indifference.

At that nonsensical reply, now irritated beyond the limits of his patience, Gellert dismissively waved a hand at her. However, before he could say another word, the Seer bore her eyes into his, as she said gleefully,  _"What you secretly yearn for, will never happen. He will never come back to you."_

Arching an eyebrow, Gellert stared at her, his strained smile relaxing into a nonchalant one as he batted away bittersweet memories and said pleasantly,  _"We will see."_

" _You will lose the war as well,"_  said Sibylla as if she had not been interrupted at all, her tone now satisfied,  _"both the muggle and the wizarding one."_

At that, a bout of hearty, crowing laughter erupted from Gellert's mouth, as he shook his head with amusement.  _"Indeed?"_

When his chortles subsided, he shot her a wide, crooked grin.  _"But with countless casualties, no doubt, hmm? Splendid news, then. The wars are nothing but a smokescreen, a sideshow of a sideshow, amusing entertainment with some added benefits to help my Quest along."_  He eyed her with a viciously taunting expression on his handsome face, as he quipped,  _"Surely you didn't expect me to break into tears when you disclosed that to me? Or when you mentioned Albus' 'profound love' for me in the past? Or that he wouldn't be mine, once again?"_

Sibylla countered his words not with an expression of disappointment but with one of utter boredom.  _"This is getting tedious. Ask the question – the reason for why I am here, and let's be done with it."_

" _With pleasure,"_  said Gellert shortly, before he pinned her with his eyes and demanded curtly,  _"Where is the Vessel?"_

The Seer's lips curved into a wide smile, her dark eyes gleaming, as she intoned cheerfully,  _"Where, indeed. The Jews' greatest treasure has long since been hidden, not even my Inner Eye has the capacity to pierce through the shrouds of magic that keep it concealed. I can tell you this, however - it will not be you who finds it."_  Her black gaze flickered to the Globe, her hard smile widening _. "It will be the boys."_

With his narrowed-eyed, hazel gaze flickering from the two flames on the Globe to her and back, Gellert finally took a step forward, aiming his wand at the Seer, as a crooked grin spread on his face.  _"I'm afraid that's an insufficient answer. You know what will happen now, do you not? You must have Seen it, hmm? Yet I dare say that you won't be prepared for it, as much as you must have already armed yourself with valor."_

Sibylla's bruised face paled alarmingly, though she didn't speak a word, her jaw merely tightened as she balled her chained hands into white-knuckled fists.

At her reaction, Gellert cocked his head to a side, his twisted grin widening with relish, as he continued placidly,  _"I, on the other hand, am quite looking forward to it. It was a tradition of old, was it not, to rip out the eyes of Seers so that their Inner Eye instantly became more powerful? Undoubtedly, you'll be able to 'pierce through shrouds of magic' once it's done and divulge to me the Vessel's precise location."_

Not wasting another breath, Gaelic words sprung from his lips as he swished his wand in her direction. In the bat of an eyelash, ghostly, skeletal hands erupted from his wand's tip, becoming larger as they spread forth like black tendrils of smoke, the fingers soon sinking into the flesh of the woman's face, delving into her eye-sockets.

And as much as she had foreseen it and prepared for it, Sibylla couldn't help the endless scream that tore out her parched throat, her limbs jerkily convulsing due to the agony inflicted, as the ghostly claw-like fingers clamped around her eyeballs, and then simply pulled and gouged out.

The sound of her screams, of Grindelwald's satisfied chuckles, of the squishy noise when the ghostly hands withdrew and squashed her eyeballs within their fists, the dripping of rivulets of blood that surged from her empty sockets, all of it became faraway, distant sounds when her mind suddenly seemed to explode in a whirlwind of blinding visions, of flashing images and sounds, of floods of knowledge of past, present and future which abruptly poured forth as if a great dam had been broken.

The pain was insurmountable, yet with her last remnant of conscious will and determination, Sibylla remembered the fake tooth in her mouth and the poison within it. She snapped her jaw shut, and with a soft 'crack', the tooth split and the liquid quickly trickled down her throat.

Gellert jumped forward when, suddenly, purple fumes hissed and emanated from the witch's mouth, blood abruptly pouring from her ears and nostrils, as her face became a lattice of protruding, sickly black veins.

With a roar of rage, having an inkling of what the cunning Seer must have done, he flicked his Elder Wand urgently and repeatedly. His bottomless pensieve flew towards him as he made flows of silvery tendrils pour out from the woman's head, like thick rivers of grey light that came forth like waves as he directed them with his wand.

Frantically, Gellert poured memory after memory into the floating pensieve by his side, but he could already see the wide, gaping holes in the damaged silvery tendrils.

After long minutes of exhausting work, with beads of sweat on his smooth forehead, Gellert took in a deep breath as the last frayed tendril he could salvage dropped inside the pensieve. Settling the pensieve on top of the nearest table, he gazed down at its contents with an utterly enraged expression on his face.

He had told the guards to check every inch of her body precisely so that something like that wouldn't happen. Soon, two of his guards would wish they had never been born.

Yet, as he contemplated the ravaged tendrils of the Seer's memories now floating placidly on his pensieve's surface, he thought he could piece some information together from what was left.

Gellert stilled for a moment, and his hazel gaze snapped to look at the witch. There was nothing left of Sibylla Spyros but a mangled corpse with a black, veiny face, eyeless sockets, and bloodied rags of clothes. Her blue lips, frozen in their expression with the rigor mortis of death, were twisted, yet not in agony but with the satisfaction that came with having taken her ultimate revenge.

If it was revenge on him or on the world at large, Gellert didn't know, but abruptly, peals of crowing chortles escaped from his lips.

And as he reached her corpse, he gallantly bowed his head to her, admiringly acknowledging the cunningness of the one witch who had managed to best him.

With a wide, crooked grin of appreciation and parting fondness, he flicked his wand. Her body instantly vanished into thin air, the chains loudly clanking as they heavily dropped to the stone floors.

As his hazel gaze returned to the pensieve, Gellert's grin widened. Indeed, he wouldn't have all the information he had hoped for, but he always enjoyed playing the game when it became harder and more unpredictable.

* * *

Konrad Von Krauss' shiny black boots clicked against the stone floors as he made his way along the narrow corridor of the highest level of Nurmengard Tower. In his late thirties, with his locks of ashy blonde hair pulled back on his head in an impeccable style, his hard, icy blue eyes gleaming with depths of knowledge and self-confidence, and with his tall and broad-shouldered physique, he cut an impressive figure - the epitome of strong masculinity and vaunted dark pureblood power and supremacy.

There were not even crinkles around his eyes or along his forehead to indicate the utter exhaustion the wizard felt, after having spent one more month leading the squads of followers who went through the Jew possessions that the Nazis had been confiscating and whisking away to the numerous warehouses they had scattered all around Germany.

Alas, in the endless rows of ornate, antique furniture, of priceless vases, paintings and portraits, of jewels and gems, of books upon books, and Torahs after Torahs, nothing pertinent had been found. Oh, there had been some valuables magically hidden away in many objects from wizarding Jewish families, but not what his Dark Lord was looking for – a clue regarding the location of the Vessel.

Once again, the latest warehouse had proven to be an utter disappointment.

Nevertheless, he had been summoned by the Dark Lord a few minutes ago and Konrad had instantly apparated to Nurmengard's entrance gateway, his concern for Grindelwald giving him one more reason to be as swift as possible.

He had heard that the Dark Lord had finally interrogated the Seer, but in the two weeks after that, it seemed that Grindelwald had spent all his time locked in his office, merely going out to participate in some meetings in the Reichstag to push matters along with Hitler and the muggle's minions.

For Konrad, this was worrisome to some extent, since the Dark Lord usually liked to be seen in the many balls and society events thrown with the very money of his followers, affording the lap of luxury to entice more supporters.

When he finally reached the iron-wrought door of the Dark Lord's study, Konrad cleared his throat, smoothened his robes to get rid of non-existent wrinkles, and then knocked once.

Without a word from the inside, the heavy door creaked open, and Konrad stepped inside with brisk, short strides.

He abruptly halted when his icy blue gaze landed on Grindelwald, who was seated behind one of his many desks. But unlike other occasions, the Dark Lord had dark circles under his eyes and a rather ruffled and scruffy appearance. Though, the wizard's hazel eyes gleamed with some measure of satisfaction, and his ever present crooked smile seemed to be one of pleasure at seeing him.

Konrad would still be cautious, nonetheless. No one knew as well as he did how mercurial and unpredictable Grindelwald's mood swings could be. After all, the wizard had practically raised him. He liked to believe that no one knew the man better than he did.

At the sight of his most loyal and trusted of his Haupte Kommandanten, and the only one in his Circle of followers who knew about his true Quest, Gellert widened his smile and gestured for the wizard to take a seat, as he chuckled under his breath,  _"Every time I see you, you remind me more and more of your father."_

" _I certainly hope it's in looks only, my Lord,"_  said Konrad, his lips twisting with disdain at the very memory of his progenitor, as he swiftly sat down with an economy of movement.

Gellert chidingly tsked at him, but knew better than to push the matter. It was no secret that Konrad held no love for his departed father. And Konrad, for his part, felt that the only valuable thing Ulrich Von Krauss had ever imparted to him was his vast knowledge of magical history.

Indeed, since his father's schooldays, when Ulrich had been Grindelwald's loyal sidekick and closest friend, his father had been a history fanatic. It had come as no surprise to anyone that, when a seventeen-year-old Gellert had started travelling around the world, the faithful and besotted Ulrich had instantly joined him. For years and years, the pair had journeyed to their heart's content, gathering magical knowledge and coming to form many plans.

Konrad knew well that the Quest for the Vessel had began due to some of his father's findings during the travels, and that soon, it had become the pair's common life goal to see the artifact re-discovered and used for the third time in history.

He didn't hold against his father the man's unrequited and obsessive love and adoration of Grindelwald, despite that it had been subject of ridicule during most of his life and some, even now, dared to throw a jibe at Konrad due to it. He didn't resent his father for having no thoughts or interest but in history and his scholarly pursuits, and to care for no one but for Gellert.

Konrad didn't even despise his father for the childhood he had been given – Ulrich had done his duty and had married a dark pureblood witch, who had bore him a male heir and then was happily content to live her own life in one of the many Von Krauss estates and never see child or husband again.

As a result of that, and per Grindelwald's wishes, Ulrich had been forced to take the little boy Konrad along with them during their endless travels. Konrad had grown up without the formal education of a magical school, and while Ulrich had treated him as a sort of pet which annoyingly distracted him from historical studies and researches, Gellert had treated him as a nephew, and had taken the time and interest to tutor and teach him during the many years when a young Konrad had travelled along with them.

What he did hold against his father was the decimation of the Von Krauss fortune caused by the astronomical expenses incurred during decades of journeys. He didn't blame Gellert for not having spent a knut of the Grindelwald riches in such wanderings around the world. It was his father who had decided to treat his 'friend'. And thus the blame laid on his father's besotted and extravagant foolishness and the man's lack of thought for the future of the Von Krauss line.

The Von Krauss estates, thankfully, hadn't been touched, but that didn't help matters when Konrad's time had come to have a spouse. With not a knut in the Von Krauss vaults, he had had no choice but to marry the wealthiest pureblood that could be found. But it had been his father, as per tradition, who had chosen for him.

Daughter of one of the wealthiest dark pureblood families of Russia, with nothing to entice marital prospects –not in looks or wits- but her fortune, Ludmilla had seemed like the perfect candidate to Ulrich Von Krauss, with little concern about his son's tastes or opinion about her.

Moreover, the wizard had disregarded -other due to blind stupidity or indifference- the many loopholes in the marital contract that was signed with Ludmilla's family. Konrad had later learned that due to that mistake, his wife's fortune would not be appended and become part of the Van Krauss one, as was normal and expected, but that his wife would retain control.

And after a few days of marriage, Konrad had discovered that his wife was nothing but a petty, frivolous -and to his misfortune- occasionally cunning, harpy of a woman. To add insult to injury, they had tried to beget an heir for ages, all conceptions ending in miscarriages, until one day a daughter was born and Ludmilla had quite acidly declared that there would be no further attempts.

A female heiress, of course, was not a proper heir to the Von Krauss line, but Konrad had had no choice but to accept it, since Ludmilla had quickly willed her fortune to her newborn daughter, and told him in no uncertain terms just how knut-less he would be if he ever impregnated one of his mistresses with a bastard child. Then she had swiftly occupied herself with throwing balls in the Von Krauss estates and holding court in wizarding society events, never missing the grandeur and lavishness of the Winter Season in her beloved wizarding Moscow or St. Petersburg, and coming back to Germany only to mingle with the crème de la crème of pureblood circles.

Tied to his wife's purse strings, with no option of poisoning her so that he could marry again, Konrad had grown to despise his daughter as much as his wife, since the girl, in his eyes, though having inherited his looks, seemed nothing but a horrid copy of Ludmilla, personality-wise.

Thus, when his father had been killed, Konrad had considered that justice had been served and he had known joy for one brief moment. And so, when Gellert liked to reminiscence about his old friend, Konrad did nothing but press his lips into a thin line, his eyes turning chilly until Grindelwald noticed, which would often result in being shot a crooked smile before the Dark Lord summarily changed subjects.

" _Any findings?"_

Konrad was yanked away from his embittered reminiscences, and he focused his full attention on the dark wizard before him.

" _No, my Lord,"_  he replied shortly, with enough words to convey the fruitlessness of the latest warehouse inspection.

" _Gellert, if you will, when it's just the two of us,"_  said the Dark Lord, gracing him with a charming, twisted smile which had a hint of impatience to it.  _"Surely I don't need to remind you yet again?"_

Without replying, Konrad simply nodded, but it wouldn't change the fact that he would always wait for Grindelwald to offer that sort of familiarity between them. Even if the wizard was the only true parental figure he had known in his life, he had experienced more than one occasion when the Dark Lord had seemed vastly irked when addressed as simply 'Gellert' by him.

The wizard before him ever remained truly unpredictable in his moods; as companionable and mischievous as a schoolboy one moment, as charming and alluring as the most consummate of hedonistic dandies in the next, and as chilling and fear-inspiring as the Dark Lord he was, in the other.

Konrad contemplated the perfection of the regal and handsome features of the face before him and the sheer breathtaking potency of the power that Gellert exuded. And not for the first time, he thanked that his tastes didn't lean towards males.

Grindelwald -renowned as a wizard who enjoyed carnal pleasures to the fullest and who didn't restrain himself in such pursuits- had a long string of beautiful male lovers, and the occasional woman, who inevitably all ended mindlessly in love with the wizard. Yet, one after the other, they all went out of Gellert's bedroom door receiving the same farewell: a fond pat on their heads, a salacious parting wink and a crooked smile.

Pulling his gaze away and clearing his throat, Konrad gestured at the nearest map of Europe hanging by the walls, as he said curtly,  _"Despite of my lack of success so far, I believe that when Austria and Czechoslovakia are taken first, as you have planned, we could have greater chances of finding something in the possessions of the Jews of those countries-"_

" _Yes, yes, certainly. That is a possibility, but we'll wait a while before that,"_  interrupted Grindelwald, his tone disinterested and quite dismissive.  _"And I will no further waste your talents in such mundane task."_ His hazel eyes suddenly seemed to gleam as an eager smile broke on his face. _"Tell me, how is your dear little daughter doing?"_

" _Kasimira?"_ Konrad frowned at him, before he added with unveiled distaste, _"I suppose she is doing well. She has begun her first year at Durmstrang."_

" _Indeed? Wonderful news,"_ said Gellert quite congenially and casually, his tone of voice only managing to put Konrad on his guard and making him quite certain that he wouldn't like the next words that would spill from his Lord's lips.  _"Have you thought of start making arrangements to have her married into a worthy pureblood line?"_

Konrad's frown, now a bit befuddled, only deepened as he replied,  _"Ludmilla will take care of that-"_

" _No, my dear friend, you cannot leave such matters to your 'charming' wife,"_ interjected Gellert, his tone sarcastic and poignant. A smile stretched widely on his face as he abruptly stood to his feet and went around his desk to pat Konrad on the shoulder.  _"Since Kasimira will be the heiress of your estates, it's only fit that you see to her future, as a doting father should do."_

" _Doting father? Not quite, Gellert, as you well know-"_

" _And a union with a dark pureblood English family of renown and prestige, is just what the Von Krauss line needs,"_  continued Grindelwald pleasantly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all.  _"The Patriarch of the family I have in mind is already a supporter but can be persuaded to commit further to the cause if presented with Kasimira as a spouse for his grandson. With the enticement of the estates your daughter will inherit from you and the fortune from Ludmilla, she'll be a treat too appealing to ignore. Thus, I've decided that it's in your best interest to spend some years in England, to see this matter through."_

Without knowing what to protest about first, Konrad settled on showing some of his utter abhorrence, as he said with open scorn, his lips twisting,  _"England? Surely not. I'm your right-hand. I'm needed here in Germany, not traipsing around that horrid little country. And Ludmilla would never consent. She can't abide British wizarding society, as boorish and tainted as it is. And for once, I agree with her in that opinion-"_

" _Ludmilla and your daughter will stay put where they are,"_  interrupted Gellert, all traces of amicable smile gone from his handsome face as he pierced him with a hard gaze.  _"And I'm not sending you there to enjoy society, Konrad. I'm sending you on a several missions, as a matter of fact. I've given you a reason for your stay there that will raise no suspicions – to seek a marital contract for your daughter. And so you shall, whilst you conduct more pertinent tasks for me."_

" _Which are?"_  demanded Konrad, fixing his Lord with an icy stare, not ready to relent unless given a worthy reason.

" _You do try my patience sometimes, Konrad,"_  said Gellert sharply, before he turned around and gestured at a nearby table.  _"What do you see there?"_

An expression of dawning understanding spread on Konrad's features as his gaze landed on the pensieve predominantly occupying the tabletop, and he said quietly,  _"The Seer's memories? It went according to plan?"_

" _Not exactly,"_  said Gellert nonchalantly, as he waved a hand and a scroll of rolled parchment materialized in his grip.  _"I didn't glean as much information as I desired - but enough."_ His hazel eyes gleamed darkly and his lips curved upwards, as he added,  _"I've been… quite surprised by some of it."_

Konrad shot him a scrutinizing glance, decided it was best not to pry for the time being, and then eyed the scroll in the wizard's hand.  _"My missions in England have to do with what you've learned from the Seer's knowledge?"_

" _Precisely, and there's no one I can trust with it but you,"_  said Gellert, crookedly smiling at him with an affectionate, encouraging expression that Konrad didn't fully trust, since it normally preceded orders he didn't like.  _"One of your tasks, apart from seeing to your daughter's future marital arrangements and to persuade more British wizards to our side, is to act as a liaison between my spy at Hogwarts and myself. The other, is to forge for yourself an identity in English muggle society, with adequate political and financial clout."_

" _In muggle society?"_  echoed Konrad, painfully pushing the words out with an appalled and suffering expression on his face.

" _I'm not doing this to torture you,"_  said Gellert sternly, piercing him with an impatient, harsh gaze.  _"And as distasteful as you find it, you will do as commanded."_  He dropped the scroll in the wizard's hands as he added curtly,  _"There you will find the detailed instructions. Your missions will span for several years, and I expect you to report back to me once every three months. You will understand more when you've read the scroll. You're dismissed."_

Gripping the scroll tightly in a fist, Konrad shot him a glance, before he snapped his heels together and gave him a sharp nod of the head. In the next instant, he briskly strode out of the room, leaving an amused Dark Lord shaking his head.

* * *

_Three years later…_

* * *

In a circular office in Gryffindor Tower of Hogwarts, a wizard sat behind his desk with a contemplative expression on his face. Having nearly eighty years of age, any muggle who would look at him would have pegged him as not being a day over forty.

The wizard had wavy locks of long, auburn hair and a beard of the same hue which reached his waist, sky blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles which twinkled with good humor, and pleasant features in a face which usually wore an amicable and calm expression. Adding joviality to his appearance, he was dressed in purple robes, the cuffs and hems displaying rows of small, animated suns, with hands that waved and with eyes that winked.

The majority of Hogwarts students who knew Albus Dumbledore as their Transfiguration Professor, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster, were of the opinion that he was a benevolent and kind-hearted man, with a patience and fondness for children as that of a fatherly and doting uncle.

The wizarding world in general knew him for the fame and good reputation that the wizard had earned for himself.

Albus was well known and respected in the scholarly circles, where he had gained notoriety with his publications in Potions Journals, with the deep research and experimentation with Alchemy that he conducted with his partner Nicholas Flamel, and with the ground-breaking discovery of the full twelve uses of dragon blood.

He was also known as to have been the youngest wizard to be granted a seat in the Wizengamot, where he was considered by most to be wise beyond his years, his intelligence and prudence admired. Though, his open championship of muggles and muggleborns was not favorably viewed by some.

It was in this regard that Albus sometimes found harsh opposition when he proposed laws and measures for the protection and betterment of muggleborns, especially in recent years, with the rise of a new Dark Lord.

Yet, even if many purebloods considered him to be a thorn in their side and the bane of their traditions and beliefs of old, none could dispute Albus' talents in law-making and in handling political affairs.

In many occasions Albus had offered himself to act in an unofficial capacity for the Ministry of Magic, as an ambassador of sorts, in order to resolve political disputes in other countries which affected the wizarding world. And he was renowned by his long list of successes.

His most prominent accomplishment in this regard had taken place some decades ago, when Albus had acted as the mediator during the negotiations for the formation of the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas.

Indeed, it was mostly due to the wizard's intervention that all the leaderless and squabbling wizarding communities scattered about the American continent had been able to reach an agreement to be joined under one magical government; from the shaman tribes of the north, to the wealthy pureblood families of Massachusetts, to the small communities of halfbloods and muggleborns who liked to live amidst muggles, to the powerful magical descendants of the Incas and Aztecs who lived in their hidden ancient cities in Mexico and Central America, to the pygmies in the jungles of the Amazons, to the blooming wizarding towns in Chile and Argentina, and reaching down to the very tip of South America with the isolated communities in Tierra del Fuego.

And yet, for all his success, other than having accepted a seat in the Wizengamot and to be the British representative in the International Confederation of Wizards, Albus Dumbledore always rejected offers to have an official position in the Ministry or any other accolades.

And it was so, that many wondered why the famed wizard was simply content in remain being a teacher at Hogwarts.

Nonetheless, that day in particular, Albus Dumbledore had much on his mind. His spectacled, sky blue gaze travelled along the many shelves containing his ample personal collection of books and tomes, his eyes focusing on one shelf in particular, which had many silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. They were of his very own creation; crafty little things made to alert him if certain events were to happen - most particularly, if an old acquaintance of his ever set foot in England.

And while he contemplated the instruments, the flurry of activity surrounding him went on undisturbed.

There was an immense, thick book open on his desk, with a long list of names on its pages – the names of the children who were eleven years old or would be turning that age before the start of the school year that would be commencing in a few months.

The magical ledger, believed to have been created by both Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, had the uncanny ability of detecting all magical children in the United Kingdom, and of revealing their names and addresses when the time came for those children to attend Hogwarts.

At present, several magical quills were flying from the pages of the ledger to the stack of parchments at one side, writing the Hogwarts letters for the children and copying down their names. As letters were completed, they folded themselves inside the envelopes that floated nearby, and then another set of quills wrote down the pertinent address. After, the magical dance continued as owl after owl perched themselves by one of the windows, sticking their legs out so that a rolled envelope would be tied to it.

And so went on the progression of flying quills, letters, envelopes and owls, while Albus Dumbledore silently mused about Gellert Grindelwald and the wizard's recent actions.

A knock on his door yanked him away from his thoughts, and an expression of resignation spread on his face as he said, "You may come in, Horace."

A short, plump man, with a balding head and a bushy, brown moustache, entered the room, chuckling jovially. "How did you know it was me?"

As the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House settled himself on a cushy armchair without any further invitation, Albus shot him a knowing glance from the top of his half-moon spectacles. "It is such time of the year when I have come to expect to receive a visit from you."

"I certainly don't know what you mean," said Horace Slughorn with an innocent look on his face, before he smiled winningly as he held up a hand to display a large bottle of firewhiskey. "I've just received this from the owner of the Daily Prophet. He was a dear student of mine, if you remember, and he likes to send me gifts from time to time to show me his appreciation for my..."

Horace trailed off as Albus' knowing stare became more pointed. Finally, he huffed as he flicked his wand to conjure two glasses. He began to pour, as he said with an affronted tone of voice, "I just thought that we could share a drink, that's all."

Albus simply smiled at that, and graciously accepted the offered glass of firewhiskey as he waited for the wizard to play his part until he got what he had come there for.

Taking a swig from his glass, and looking mightily content and cozy as he settled himself more comfortably on his chair, Horace then glanced to a side as he said idly, "He's looking a bit peaky, isn't he?"

On a perch near one of the windows, a miserable-looking creature chirped weakly with a disgruntled tone, before he stuck his head under a wing once more.

"I'm afraid Fawkes is in one of his burning days," said Albus, his gaze softening with sympathy as he observed his companion.

"Someday you'll have to tell me the story of how you managed to bond with a phoenix as a familiar," said Horace with a genial chuckle, though he shot Albus an expectant glance, as he always did when he pried into such matters.

And as always happened, Albus graced him with an enigmatic smile and remained silent.

Abruptly, Horace set his glass on the corner of the desk, a look of surprise on his face. "Oh, look at this! I hadn't noticed - well, if I had known that you were busy with the Hogwarts letters, I wouldn't have interrupted..."

With that outburst, the wizard had fooled no one, and certainly not Albus. It was not only due to the fact that Slughorn clearly lacked any acting skills, but also that with the flurry of activity that had been going on from the length of Albus' desk to the window, it was impossible that the Potions Professor had just then noticed it.

Ever since Armando Dippet had appointed Albus as his Deputy Headmaster and had delegated many of his responsibilities to him -taking care of the letters being one of them- Horace Slughorn had always found an excuse to visit him precisely on such days, every year.

Horace was already standing up and reaching the other side of the desk to look down at the ledger, as he said eagerly, "You wouldn't mind, would you, if I just took a peek...?"

Refraining from letting out a sigh, Albus shot him an indulgent glance, as he granted permission with a gesture of his hand.

Without wasting another breath, though taking care of not disrupting the proceedings, Horace bent down to be able to read the list from the ledger.

Soon, he started voicing his enthusiasm, "Oho! This must be the Minister's grandson, I wonder if he'll be one of mine… ahh, more Blacks - good, good indeed! Prewetts – and they're twins! I would so like to have the set… oh, and-"

Abruptly, Horace stared at the two last lines on the list, blinking with puzzlement. "What's this, Albus? Tom Marvolo Riddle…" He shot Dumbledore a brief glance, before he started ruminating out loud, "Riddle, Riddle… Doesn't ring a bell – it must be a muggle surname. But Marvolo? That's a wizarding name if I ever heard one. And the address, that's in muggle London… and it's an orphanage to boot… and the last boy, with the same address, and yet…"

Slughorn pulled himself up and frowned at Albus. "His name – it just says 'Harry'. What does it mean?"

"Your guess is as good as mine, Horace," said Albus, his gaze now fixed on the last two lines in the ledger. Indeed, he had been most intrigued when he had seen it, and nothing short of bewildered too.

"Has this ever happened before? Hogwarts' ledger being unable to provide a child's surname?"

"Never, as far as I know," muttured Albus quietly, a mussing and concerned expression on his face.

Before Horace could continue discussing the matter, a knock sounded on the door, this one polite and almost hesitant.

"You may enter," called out Albus distractedly.

A small girl took a step inside, dressed in her Gryffindor uniform though it was summer holidays and she certainly wasn't required to do so. She was one of the few who had been granted permission to remain in the school during the holidays and who was often seen spending all her time in the library.

She would soon start her second year at Hogwarts but already many teachers agreed that she would make a splendid prefect. With her hair strictly pulled back into a tight bun, not a hair out of place, and her lips pursing into a flat line when she glanced at Slughorn, she nevertheless gave a small smile and her cheeks flushed faintly when Albus gestured for her to come further inside.

"Miss McGonagall," said Albus warmly, his eyes twinkling at the sight of his best Transfiguration student to date. "What can I do for you?"

"Nothing," she choked out, as if the question had startled her and her mind had gone to dreamy places it shouldn't have.

Instantly after that, she flushed to the tips of her ears, looking mortified. It didn't help matters when Slughorn started chuckling under his breath, evidently amused at her expense.

But in the next second, Minerva pulled herself up to her full height and gazed back at her favorite professor, who was patiently smiling at her, and she said in a strong voice, "Excuse me, sir. That is, I have something for you. The Headmaster asked me to give you this."

She handed over an envelope, and then gave a sharp nod of the head before she turned around and dashed out of the room without another word.

Horace's chuckles turned into belly-laughter after the door was shut, but Albus didn't bother to chide him for it, nor to pay attention to the wizard's amused comments about schoolgirls and crushes.

Albus opened the envelope bearing the Ministry seal and read the contents of the letter, sighing with weariness and a hint of annoyance. Finally, he stood up and flicked his wand at himself, changing his clothes.

Not one to follow the latest fashions but his own colorful tastes, Albus now sported a velvet suit of a startling, bright yellow, pinstriped with violet lines – it was one of his most formal and subdued attires, in the wizard's opinion. And also, the one suit which didn't have animated figures winking, waving or dancing – perfect for an incursion into muggle London.

With that thought in mind, he opened a drawer of his desk where he had kept the letters for the muggleborns. He hadn't planned on visiting the muggleborns' homes for another week or two, but now that the perplexing matter of the boy without a surname was back in his mind, he thought he could kill two birds with one stone.

As requested by the Minister's letter, their meeting would take place in Leisure Alley, just a step away from muggle London. Hence, afterwards, he would pay a visit to St. Jerome's Orphanage.

Pocketing the thick envelopes for Tom Marvolo Riddle and just 'Harry', he shot Slughorn a brief glance, seeing how the Potions Professor was brimming with curiosity.

"I must take my leave, Horace," Albus said quickly, as he grabbed a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece. Without giving the other wizard a chance to start asking questions, he swiftly threw the powder unto the flames of his fireplace. The moment they turned green, he stepped into them and called out, "The Leaky Cauldron!"


	6. Part I: Chapter 6

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers and sorry I took so long to update. But I must admit that it will probably happen again, I'm not sure. I'm very busy nowadays and don't have much spare time, so my updating will be sporadic – I might update several times in one month and then there might be a period in which I don't update for a couple of months, and such.

Sorry, I know how bothersome that is for readers, but it can't be helped.

Now, you must know beforehand that there is little action in this chapter and no Tom/Harry scene. This is mostly filled with information, so it will be boring and tedious for some of you, but it's very important for the development of the plot.

In the next chapters things will pick up quite a bit, hopefully.

That said, I hope you let me know what you think and enjoy it nonetheless!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 6**

* * *

In his flashy yellow velvet suit, after leaving The Leaky Cauldron to enter Diagon Alley, Albus Dumbledore had traversed the length of the bustling street, pausing here and there to exchange greetings with acquaintances, shoppers and passersby.

When he reached the end of Diagon Alley, where Gringotts stood in all its splendor, he didn't even glance at the corner of the street where the shadowy entrance to Knockturn Alley could be seen. Instead, he stood on the opposite side where there was a small expanse of brickwall between Gringott's building and an owlerly post office.

He gave the brickwall a single tap with his wand and soon an archway materialized in front of him, gleaming bright blue with the age line charm that prevented under-aged wizards and witches from crossing it. As Albus took a step forward, it gleamed green and then the brickwall sealed itself behind him as he entered Leisure Alley.

The cobblestoned, winding street was bustling with activity, being as it was the preferred shopping and dining site, not for families with their children, but for couples wanting to have romantic get-togethers in the cafés, for witches shopping for the latest fashions from wizarding Paris in the three exclusive stores, for Ministry officials who liked to go there during their lunch breaks to partake of international cuisine in its many restaurants, for tourists who could choose between staying in the lavish Hotel Boadicea, favored place for many foreign, visiting dignitaries, or the more relaxed and cheaper Wild Boar's Inn, or, late in the evening, for witches and wizards who wanted to spend a night of cheer and festivity in its many pubs or in Leisure Alley's dancing hall.

Albus soon located the restaurant where he had been 'requested' to partake lunch with the Minister. Dionysius' Abode had become a favorite dinning place for purebloods and high-placed Ministry officials; with elegant Roman columns displaying coiling vines, hanging and heavy with grapes, with a high, arched ceiling charmed to show a sunny, cloudless sky, with a majestic fountain decorated with stone nymphs in the middle of the many tables, and with arches along the walls which resembled windows, charmed to show views of the Mediterranean sea, sprawling villas and vineyards.

For all its pretentiousness, Albus nevertheless admitted that Dionysius' Abode's chocolate and lemon dessert was truly exceptional. It was the one positive aspect of being forced to be in such surroundings.

"Mr. Dumbledore, the Minister is already waiting for you," said the hostess as soon as she caught sight of Albus, as he stepped further inside the restaurant's lobby. The beautiful young witch, dressed in form-fitting scarlet robes, charmingly smiled at him as she started to lead the way. "If you'd be so kind as to follow me…"

Cheerfully trailing after her, Albus waved and nodded in response to the greetings shot at him by acquaintances as he passed by their tables. A group in particular caught his attention; from those quarters he received no greeting but rather poignant stares.

Old Maximilian Malfoy, with his long, dark blonde hair and cunning blue eyes, seemed to be holding court in the best-placed table in the restaurant, the wizard's thin lips curling in distaste as his chilly gaze followed Albus' progression across the room.

Albus recognized the man's companions: two Ministry officials from the Department of International Magical Cooperation, who seemed to be preening and basking in the glory of being seen next to such an eminent figure as the Paternas of Malfoy House; an elderly member of the Wizengamot, who -when catching sight of Albus- squirmed uneasily in his seat, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; the middle-aged Arcturus and Pollux Black, cousins, and the Heads of their respective branches of Black House; and last but certainly not least, Aurelia Bones, the Minister's Undersecretary.

The hostess led him to a table occupied by a wizard of Albus' age – the Minister of Magic, Charlemagne McLaggen, with his long, thin mustache, its tips curled upwards into spirals, which, in the wizard's opinion, gave him a sophisticated and majestic look.

Furthermore, the man wore rich robes of the latest fashion and seemed to flinch when blinded by Albus' flashy yellow attire, his expression then souring as if Albus' choice of wardrobe had been made with the sole intention of offending him.

Albus took a seat and pleasantly greeted the Minister as the hostess left them after conjuring the menus. It didn't escape Albus' notice that their table was but an arm-length's away from Maximilian Malfoy and his cronies. It seemed the Minister had decided to have reinforcements for their 'casual' meeting – it surprised him not.

Albus had long ago become tired of warning Charlemagne of the dangers of 'befriending' Maximilian Malfoy and lending an ear to the wizard's advice. It was no secret to Albus that Maximilian's sphere of influence was far reaching, his web not only threading through the Ministry –as it seemed a Malfoy tradition of old to bribe their way through the Ministry's ranks. But Maximilian had taken it two steps further by managing to get himself a seat in the Wizengamot and elected as the Head of Hogwarts' Board of Governors.

Thus, the old wizard had the three bastions of power of wizarding Britain under his influence. However, while Maximilian Malfoy surely considered Albus Dumbledore his foremost archrival in political matters, Albus merely thought of him as one more wizard whose actions had to be monitored and nothing else – even the Malfoy Paternas, with all his cunningness and power, paled in comparison to the Dark Lord Gellert Grindelwald, no matter how much Maximilian Malfoy would certainly desire to be considered in the same league.

Nevertheless, Albus Dumbledore was no fool, and he soon covertly swished his wand to envelop both him and the Minister in an invisible magical bubble – their conversation would remain private. He shot a benevolent smile at Charlemagne McLaggen, and while the wizard realized what had been done and shot him a resentful glare, Albus took the opportunity to very briefly, and covertly, share a glance with Aurelia Bones.

Their quick, shared gaze spoke volumes, a silent conversation traded. The witch's minute nod of the head conveying that Mrs. Bones would later apprise Albus of the particulars of Malfoy's conversation with his cronies, in that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix – the secret group Albus had recently founded when it became evident to him that the English Ministry of Magic was ill-prepared, and its leader too weak-willed, to pose an opposition against Gellert.

Aurelia Bones, the Minister's Undersecretary, was -secretly in her case- one of several Ministry officials who followed Albus' lead in political matters. She was his spy – though Albus didn't like to use that word, since dire had to be the times in which they lived when he had no other choice but to have spies in his very government.

Charlemagne McLaggen's mood –which had never been a good one- soured further with each passing second; when Dumbledore magically isolated them from prying ears, when the odious carefree wizard plucked a grape from the vine dangling above their heads and popped it into his mouth, when the man cheerfully hummed as he asked the waiter to only be served 'that scrumptious chocolate and lemon cake', instead of asking for a full meal as any respectable wizard would do. Everything about Albus Dumbledore offended him – it always had.

The man's garish yellow suit insulted Charlemagne's sense of style, the man's benevolent expression and calm airs made him want to strangle him, Albus' mere presence made him grit his teeth – with envy, anger and bitterness.

They had known each other for a very long time. They had attended Hogwarts in the same year; Charlemagne being in Ravenclaw, as most McLaggens before him, and Dumbledore in Gryffindor. Even back then, Charlemagne couldn't stand the sight of him.

Every year, he had come second place after Albus, always bested in grades. Every year he had to watch as the wizard stole the limelight, with teachers praising Albus instead of paying attention to Charlemagne's accomplishments; when Albus was made Head Boy instead of him – a position that should had been his, something he had always coveted- when Albus' NEWT scores were perfect, and when the wizard had been the winner of the Barnabus Finkle Prize for Exceptional Spell-Casting and the British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot – another two things Albus had stolen from him.

Back then, Charlemagne's sole respite from being in Albus' shadow was that he was free of him during summer holidays. But that had also changed. Like several light pureblood families, the McLaggens had a summer residence in Godric Gryffindor's hometown. And one year, all of a sudden, a huge scandal had shaken the wizarding community of Britain; Percival Dumbledore, Albus' father, and a very well respected pureblood wizard since the man had been the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation, was sentenced to life-imprisonment in Azkaban for the murder of a couple of muggles. The whole affair had been very hush-hush, the Ministry unwilling to leak information about the matter in their shame of having one of their Head of Departments being convicted of such a serious crime.

Charlemagne, for his part, had been ecstatic at the news, hoping that the infamy of having such a father would put Albus in his place and take him down several notches. What he hadn't expected was for the Dumbledore family to move right next to his family's summer house in Godric's Hollow.

After that, all he had heard about during those times were his mother's offended remarks and indignation because Kendra Dumbledore had slammed the door shut in her face when his mother had paid a visit to welcome her to the neighborhood; all gossips suddenly were about the Dumbledores, all attention drawn to them and the strange noises that had come from their house, as if they had a wild beast caged within their home.

The following summer had been worse, when Kendra Dumbledore had died from an 'accident', and everyone in the neighborhood pitied Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore, and spoiled them, trying to make up for their loss.

And the last summer, in their seventh year, it became unbearable for Charlemagne. The eminent and famous historian Bathilda Bagshot, the pride of Godric's Hallow, received a visit from her grandnephew, and everyone in the neighborhood doted after the handsome young man, and cooed and speculated when they saw that the boy was always seen in Albus' company. And when the cat was out of the bag and everyone discovered the existence of Ariana Dumbledore when the girl was killed in another 'magical accident' which was blamed on no one at all, Albus was once again the focus of everyone's attention and compassion.

It had galled him, yet Charlemagne considered himself as not being resentful. If Albus Dumbledore had apologized for being the bane of his existence, Charlemagne would have magnanimously forgiven him. But it seemed that Albus wasn't even aware of the damage he had caused to him.

Yet, Charlemagne had been gracious enough to even consider forgiving Albus when he had found out that for all his perfect scores, the wizard had decided to become a mere Transfiguration Professor. That had been a joyful day for Charlemagne, and after Hogwarts he went on to climb the ranks in the Ministry of Magic, his ascendance slow but firm, gaining many important posts before becoming the Minister of Magic.

He had thought, then, that Albus would fade away into insignificance and oblivion in the dusty and lackluster post as a school teacher. But even from such an inconsequential placement, Albus had managed to outshine him.

First, when Albus advocated the preservation of the almost extinct merpeople, managing to convince the Ministry to allow a community of merfolk to take residence in Hogwarts' Lake. Then, when the wizard was awarded with the Gold Medal for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International Alchemical Conference in Cairo – a prize which hadn't been conferred to anyone for over four centuries. After, Dumbledore was further acclaimed as the key mediator in the formation of the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas. Later, Albus broke all records by being elected the youngest Wizengamot member in British history.

Dumbledore even gained further fame when he solved the centaur-problem by reaching an agreement with the beasts, giving them a home in Hogwarts' Forest in exchange of allowing the Ministry to keep them in check by forming a sub-department for the regulation and control of centaur population. That no centaur ever registered, thus breaking the deal, seemed to escape everyone's notice. No one had blamed Albus for it, even when it was clear to many that the wizard seemed quite happy that the halfbreeds weren't submitting to the Ministry's control.

And lately, for some years now, Albus had dealt him the most grievous of insults and offenses, when the wizard started war-mongering from his seat in the Wizengamot, warning about the perils of Gellert Grindelwald's rise to power in Germany, spouting vile alarmist lies regarding impeding doom for them all if something was not done to halt Grindelwald's ascendancy. Worst of it, half of the Wizengamot believed him, and even before that, many had attempted to convince Albus to become the Minister of Magic – when Charlemagne himself had already acquired the post.

"This is quite tasty," remarked Albus as he loaded his fork with another morsel of cake, at last breaking the silence that had reigned between them after their dishes had been served. "Would you care try a bite-?"

Being yanked away from bitter reminiscences, Charlemagne, who still hadn't touched his dish of duck a la orange, skewered him with a poisonous glare as he said acidly, "We're not here to enjoy the culinary delicacies of this establishment."

"Ah," said Dumbledore, as he set down his fork and leaned back on his chair to regard him with utter calmness. "Why are we here, then, old friend?"

At the appellation, Charlemagne's spiraling moustache twitched with incensed anger. He considered himself to be the consummate politician, a smooth-talker who could persuade even the most hostile of audiences; as cunning as a Slytherin, as prodigal as a Ravenclaw, as loyalty-inspiring as a Hufflepuff, and as noble-bearing and morally upstanding as a Gryffindor. But Albus Dumbledore was the one person in the whole world who instantly riled him up with his mere existence – he was utterly unable to be his restrained, polite and charming public self in the man's presence.

Thus, his dark brown eyes narrowed as he hissed sharply, his tone of voice agitated and enraged, "To discuss two matters. First, I want you to call off Carlotta Pinkstone and her cohorts."

An expression of earnest surprise flashed across Albus' face, his eyebrows shooting upwards.

Charlemagne shot him a venomous glance, not believing Albus' innocence in the matter for one second. For the last two weeks, a halfblood witch by the name of Carlotta Pinkstone had begun campaigning for the lifting of the International Confederation of Wizards' Statute of Secrecy; her aim being that Muggles be told about the existence of the Wizarding World. Of course, it was preposterous and no one supported her cause.

Nonetheless, the witch and her equally deranged small group of friends had somehow managed to slip into the Ministry of Magic and they had chained themselves to the Fountain of Magical Brethren as a means of protest – refusing to leave until the Minister agreed to her conditions.

Articles in the Daily Prophet had found it vastly amusing, ridiculing the Aurors' inability to break the unknown spells that Pinkstone and her friends were using to remain attached to the Fountain. It made Charlemagne look like an incompetent fool, and that he was not.

In his years as a Minister, he had achieved no spectacular accomplishments -nothing flashy and thus not considered by the papers to be news-worthy- but British wizarding society had known years of peace, stability and bountifulness under his mandate. His problems had started with the rise of Gellert Grindelwald and with Albus Dumbledore's alarmist views about the matter.

"You must think very little of me," said Albus at last, his tone of voice grave as he pierced the Minister with his sky blue gaze, "if you believe I'm behind it."

McLaggen met the wizard's stare as he remarked sharply, his tone of voice openly accusing, "I believe you would resort to any lowly measure to ensure I'm ousted from my post."

"I'm not after your job, Charlemagne," interjected Albus, letting out a weary sigh.

"I know you're not," said the Minister sourly, and that very fact burned like acid through his veins, since he knew that Albus could take the post from him if he so desired, but Dumbledore had no interest in it and he felt as if he was being given the leftovers the wizard didn't want. "But you wish you could have a more amenable wizard in my place – someone who could be easily manipulated by you, someone who would do just as you ask."

"I see you're not mincing words today," said Albus with a wry chuckle, as he shook his head as a means of letting the wizard know that he had no such heinous and underhanded intentions.

"I'm taking the direct approach," bit out McLaggen through gritted teeth, "since all other attempts to reach a common ground with you have been thrown back to my face."

Albus shook his head once more, looking pained for a brief moment as he said quietly, "As always, you misjudge me. Nothing would please me more than to reach an agreement with you, Charlemagne."

"How can I believe you have no hand in Pinkerton's protest when just the other week you proposed in the Wizengamot that the Statute of Secrecy be breached?" hissed out the Minister through clenched teeth, his outrage and indignation clear in his incensed expression, his level of voice rising with each word spoken, as he leaned forward against the table's edge to be closer to Albus' face. "You and your followers in the Wizengamot are pushing for your proposed law to be passed and I will not have it! I will not be known as the Minister who doomed the Wizarding World by unraveling our existence to Muggles! It's preposterous, it's sheer madness!"

McLaggen's infuriated, looming visage before his face did nothing to ruffle Albus' calmness. Dumbledore merely stared at him in silence, allowing some time for the wizard to compose himself and restrain his temper.

For a minute, Charlemagne looked mortified that he had lost his cool in such manner, quickly glancing around to see if the other patrons of the restaurant had been witness to his shameful loss of control – the last thing he needed was such an event to reach the ears of the Daily Prophet.

The eyes of many people were indeed on him, some even gawking – Charlemagne was known to be a very even-tempered wizard. However, he remembered the spell Dumbledore had cast at the very beginning and for once he was glad for it. No one could have overheard the reason for his outburst. Nonetheless, he didn't feel even the tiniest bit of gratefulness towards Albus for his spell. It only made him resent the wizard even more; that his reputation had been salvaged by Albus' actions felt like a dagger being cruelly dug between his ribs.

The Minister let out a slow exhalation of breath as he leaned back on his seat, forcing a pleasant smile to stretch on his lips to show observers that all was well.

The moment he saw that McLaggen had regained his composure, Albus eyed him intently as he started to say slowly, "Charlemagne, I'm not proposing to lift the Statute of Secrecy, nor indeed, to breach it per se-"

"I know exactly what you want," interrupted McLaggen crisply. "I've read your proposal – all three hundred pages of it." He shot him a baleful glare as he lifted up a hand, ticking off his fingers as he started enumerating, "A new department to be formed in the Ministry, the 'Muggle Liaison Office'. A means of direct communication with the Muggle Minister which consist of two things. The first, a magical portrait to be hung, irremovable, in the man's office, the portrait's subject being our ears while his second portrait is to hang in my office so the subject can move to it to alert me of any important happenings in Muggle Britain. The second, for the Muggle Minister's fireplace to be connected to the Floo Network, allowing me or any other I appoint, to be able to visit him if dire circumstances require it. All of it for the purpose of revealing the existence of our world to the Muggle Minister-"

"And only him," interjected Albus quickly, pointedly staring at him as if willing to drill his point through McLaggen's skull. "No other muggles would know-"

"The Muggle Minister would know and that alone is dangerous enough!" snapped Charlemagne angrily, frustrated by the wizard's blind obstinacy. "Even if he didn't blab to other muggles about it-"

"He wouldn't," interrupted Albus yet again. "No one would believe him. He wouldn't take the chance to be thought to be a lunatic. No muggle would."

"Even so," bit out McLaggen sharply, "it's too great a risk and we gain nothing by it."

"Gain nothing?" repeated Albus, his expression incredulous for one instance before his face became grave, his tone of voice turning harshly reproving, "If we don't help the Muggles in their War, they won't survive it."

"Ah, yes, the other point in your law – for us to have the responsibility to protect all Muggles, of any country, when their lives are endangered by a wizard, even if such wizard is not British." Charlemagne shot him a sneer as he continued sharply, "My duty is to protect and ensure the wellbeing of Wizarding Britain, and the safety of British Muggles from harm done to them by a British wizard – not a foreign one. That would be the responsibility of the Ministry of Magic of the wizard's country. Furthermore, the fate of Muggles outside Britain is not my responsibility either."

Albus shook his head sadly as he murmured, "And that is the point in which our opinions differ-"

"Indeed it is," bit out Charlemagne poignantly, narrowing his dark brown eyes at him. "Do not believe me to be a dim-witted fool, Dumbledore. I'm well aware of the reason behind this whole charade of yours, with this law you want to pass. You want us to be legally compelled to join the Muggle War, to be legally responsible to protect foreign Muggles who are attacked by foreign wizards – by German wizards." He pierced him with a contemptuous gaze, his lips pulling back from his teeth as he hissed out, "This is about Gellert Grindelwald and your claims that he has become a Dark Lord who wants to take over the entire world."

"I think there is little doubt that he is, indeed, a Dark Lord," said Albus sternly, his features hardening as he skewered him with his bespectacled gaze.

"I have no such evidence," interjected Charlemagne nonchalantly, waving a hand dismissively. "There hasn't been a Dark Lord since the fifteenth century, and as far as I've seen, Grindelwald has done nothing but become Germany's Minister of Magic and-"

"A post he gained through coercion and by underhanded means," interrupted Albus curtly, his expression becoming more thunderous by the minute, as if his patience with the wizard before him was reaching its limit. "Surely it's plain for anyone to see – the former German Minister of Magic didn't drop dead of his own accord-"

"There is no proof Grindelwald caused the wizard's death, and so far he hasn't done anything illegal either."

Being a wizard who had been a Ravenclaw at Hogwarts, Charlemagne had grown up believing in the precepts of his House – one of the most important ones which had served him well in the past, was that a fact was not a fact until there was solid proof of it. Moreover, upholding the Law and always acting within its marked boundaries was a matter of integrity and necessity for him, both because he was a Minister of Magic and because he firmly believed in the need for any society to adhere to strict rules in order to be civilized and peaceful.

A sound of frustration issued from Albus' throat, his angered exasperation with McLaggen's pig-headedness clear in his voice as he snapped, "He has taken over Austria, by force-"

"Has he?" said Charlemagne pleasantly, his lips curling upwards with satisfaction, as if he had found a legal snag with which to corner Dumbledore and win the argument. "According to what has been reported back to me, the Austrian Ministry of Magic voluntarily submitted themselves to Grindelwald's rule. Who are we to deny their wishes to join their two countries under one mantle? Indeed, if I did anything to threaten such a union, it would be I who would be breaking international magical laws."

Albus mutely shook his head, his bearded jaw clenching, before he attempted once more to make the wizard see reason. "Even before the Austrian Minister of Magic consented to become Grindelwald's puppet figurehead, in fear of his life, the Austrian muggles were already being coerced into annexing their country to the Third Reich-"

"Do not think I do not read muggle newspapers and that I'm ill-informed about the happenings in their world," snapped McLaggen incensed, believing that Dumbledore was trying to trick him with faulty information. "The Austrian muggles held a plebiscite – the majority voted in favor of joining the Third Reich, as muggles call it."

Letting out a tired sigh, Albus pinned him with his gaze as he said quietly, "It's clear to me now that you are unaware of the full extent of what happened in Austria."

Charlemagne narrowed his eyes at what he perceived to be an insult to his mental capacities. Nonetheless, he remained quiet and imperiously gestured for the wizard to continue. He would hear what the odious man had to say and then he would refute what would surely be outlandish ravings from a war-mongering loon.

Pushing his abandoned dish of cake to one side, Albus steepled his fingers over the table, boring his gaze into McLaggen as he said gravely, "The Austrian Muggle Chancellor was being pressured by Nazis from within his country and from Germany to agree to the annexation of Austria. The man attempted to keep his country independent, but he didn't succeed. The Austrian Nazi Party launched a silent coup d'état, taking over the country's state institutions. They transferred power to Germany and instantly sent troops to invade Austria in order to enforce the annexation. They didn't call it an invasion, of course, they gave other reasons for it – to keep peace and order in the country, they said. But the reality of the situation was that they left the Muggle Chancellor with few choices. He was coerced into holding a plebiscite, but he still hoped that Austrians would not vote in favor of the annexation, even if they were surrounded by troops-"

"I know this already," interjected McLaggen impatiently, "In the plebiscite, ninety-nine percent of the votes were in favor for the annexation. Nothing illegal there, they chose-"

Albus' sky blue eyes flashed behind his half-moon spectacles. "Precisely, Charlemagne. Ninety-nine percent. Not just a simple majority, but nearly an absolute one. Doesn't that give you cause for suspicion? Never have muggles reached such unprecedented majority of votes in any sort of election." His expression grew grave as he pierced the wizard with his gaze. "The general muggle populace showed signs of having had their minds tampered with, Charlemagne. I believe their water supplies were plied with a potion to make their minds pliable, open to manipulation- we both know that there are several dark potions that could do such a thing."

The Minister's dark brown eyes grew wide for a moment, before they narrowed, as he said stiffly, "That is a very serious accusation, indeed, if you're suggesting Grindelwald ordered such measure to be taken."

"I'm certain he did," retorted Albus firmly.

McLaggen's eyes narrowed even further as he demanded curtly, "You saw this yourself?" At Dumbledore's shake of the head, he pressed on, "Where is your proof, then, Dumbledore? You can't accuse the German Minister of Magic of such grave crime if you don't have the evidence to back it, if you don't have eye witnesses -"

"I do. I was informed about it by a wizard who saw the signs himself – the glassy eyes of the muggles, the-"

"Who is your witness?" demanded McLaggen instantly.

"That I cannot tell you," replied Albus sternly, peering at him from the top of his spectacles. "They must remain anonymous or their lives would be in danger."

"Are you implying that the information would be leaked out – that I have spies in my Ministry?" burst out McLaggen indignantly, his jaw clenching as his curled moustache shook with anger.

"Spies? Certainly," said Albus coolly, before his gaze flickered briefly to the table near theirs, where Maximilian Malfoy was still conversing with his cronies. "And many Grindelwald supporters as well. Your choice of… 'friends' is not a wise one."

McLaggen followed the wizard's gaze and his jaw clenched as he caught sight of Malfoy shooting them a covert glance. He turned to sneer at Dumbledore but said nothing about the matter. He was well aware that Dumbledore considered him a fool, but he wasn't one. He knew Malfoy was a dangerous, untrustworthy man to have at his side, but the wizard had his uses.

"Furthermore," started again Albus, "I have been informed of yet other grievous tampering of muggles. Recently, a region in Czechoslovakia called the Sudetenland has been occupied by the Nazi army-"

McLaggen interrupted him with a huff. "The muggles there are of German descend. From what I've heard, they wish to be annexed to their home country-"

"As happened with the invasion of Austria," continued Albus as if he hadn't been interrupted at all, his tone growing sterner, "the Nazi troops moved very efficiently, extremely quickly – this is already flummoxing other muggle nations, they believe it indicates that Hitler is a military genius. It instills fear in them. But the reason for it is a much different one."

He pointedly pinned the Minister with his gaze, as he added, "The food provisions for the Nazi armies are being laced with several potions, to give the soldiers strength and endurance beyond normal human capacity. Not to such abnormal levels as to raise suspicions but enough to make them tireless. Furthermore, they are starting to believe their own lies – that they are indeed superior to other muggles, that the reason for their tirelessness if due to their Arian race attributes shinning through."

"Again, and your proof of this-?"

"With those two examples, I believe we can see what Grindelwald's modus operandi entails," pressed on Albus, ignoring McLaggen's question. "First, he uses his muggle puppet, the man called Hitler, to give thunderous, agitated speeches to rouse their muggle armies into a frenzy and to give them a 'valid' excuse for the need to conquer a neighboring country. Then, the muggle armies are sent to invade quickly, in a flash, their very speed and efficiency bringing fear and terror into the hearts of the muggles of the country to be subjugated. After the muggle side of the country is secured, Grindelwald sends in his followers to take over the Ministry of Magic. The Ministry of Magic officials, already seeing that their muggle counterparts have fallen, and now being surrounded by muggle troops and thus vastly outnumbered, have little choice but to submit or be summarily executed."

He paused to pierce McLaggen with his gaze, as he said pointedly and sharply, "But, if they knew that the British Ministry of Magic would come to their aid, they would have hope – they would fight back, Charlemagne. We can save Czechoslovakia yet. We can attempt to halt Grindelwald's progress before he conquers more countries – before it's too late."

Charlemagne leaned backwards on his seat, his expression one of deep, grave ponderings. At last, he glanced up at Albus as he said curtly, "If what you say is true, then bring forth your eyewitnesses. I can call for an emergency meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. I will give you permission to expose your case, to have your sources of information stand there, in the flesh, giving account of what they have seen – their proof of the illegal use of potions on muggles."

A sharp, hard smile spread on his lips, his expression smug, as if he had reached a solution that could satisfy them both, as he continued, "Only then, can we press charges against the German Minister of Magic. If Grindelwald is unable to show evidence to demonstrate his innocence on the matter, I have no doubt that I would be able to convince other Ministers of Magic to unite in the cause of declaring war on Grindelwald."

"We cannot afford to do as you say - to use legal means," retorted Albus with a shake of his head. "It would take too long. Grindelwald would find ways of postponing it and in the meanwhile he will keep on invading. Moreover, I cannot let my spies reveal their identities. It would instantly reach Grindelwald's ears and they would be killed. I cannot afford to lose them, they are my only source of information-"

"Then my hands are tied, Albus!" roared McLaggen, pounding a closed fist on the table. "I'm a Minister of Magic, I have to operate within the Law. And I cannot attack a fellow Minister without evidence of wrongdoing – if I did that, I would be condemned by other Ministries. It would be I who would be breaking international magical laws!"

"That's why I ask you to act unilaterally," interjected Albus firmly. "Aid the Czechoslovakian Ministry of Magic, and once others see that Britain has taken a stance, the other Ministers of Magic will follow your lead-"

McLaggen let out a burst of dry, humorless laughter. "How little you know my counterparts! They will not come to the rescue if they see we are vastly outnumbered – and that we will be!" He shot Albus a glare as he added fiercely, "According to reports, Grindelwald's followers reach the thousands, my Aurors number little over a hundred. And I cannot take a leaf out of the muggle's book and force conscription. If I send to battle every wizard and witch of age, they would be ill-prepared –it takes a wizard three years of arduous and constant training to become an Auror. I would be sending them untrained. I would be sending them to their deaths. I will not have that on my conscience!"

Albus skewered him with his eyes and said vehemently, "If we do nothing now, British wizards will die nonetheless when Grindelwald invades England."

"There is no reason to believe Grindelwald will invade our country-"

"Don't be a fool, Charlemagne!" thundered Albus with exasperated impatience. "He will not stop at Czechoslovakia. He won't even stop when he has the whole of Continental Europe. England is the one country he will surely not leave alone!"

"Why not?" snapped McLaggen, narrowing his eyes at him. "What makes you so sure of it?"

Albus leaned backwards on his seat, keeping silent for a brief moment before he cleared his throat and said carefully, "There are… things in England he wants."

"Things?" demanded Charlemagne instantly, his eyes narrowing to slits. "What 'things'?"

"That I cannot tell," replied Albus firmly.

"Ah," bit out McLaggen incensed, "another secret you want to keep. Very well, Dumbledore, keep your silence, but know that it comes at a high cost."

He then shook his head, huffing, as he added scornfully, "You refuse to bring to light any evidence you have, you refuse to bring forth your eyewitnesses. You're asking me to act blindly, on your word alone. And you want me to send my Aurors and untrained wizards to the battlefield, without thought of the cost in human lives-"

"I'm well aware that many would die," interjected Albus quietly, letting out a deep, weary sigh. "It pains me as much as it does you. But we have little choice. We have to act now. The longer we wait, the stronger he will get-"

"I cannot do as you ask," interrupted McLaggen, shaking his head repeatedly. "I won't send wizards to their deaths. If what you fear does come to happen and Grindelwald attempts to invade us, I'll negotiate for terms of peace instantly-"

"He will not respect any terms," muttered Albus, "and if you surrender as the Austrian Minister did, he will use you and then kill you when your usefulness expires. You'd be instantly replaced by one of his closeted supporters."

With this, he pointedly shot a glance at Maximilian Malfoy and McLaggen's lips twisted as he understood the meaning of Albus' words.

Nevertheless, McLaggen shook his head once more, as he said stiffly, "You have my answer. I will not change my mind."

Albus closed his eyes, his expression one of defeat and pained regret. In the next instant, he snapped his eyes open and leaned forward, boring his gaze into the Minister's, as he whispered quietly, "Then at least do one thing, and one thing alone. Grant asylum to Jewish wizards."

McLaggen flinched backwards as if he had been struck by a heavy blow. He tried to mask it in the next second by seating straight on his chair, letting out a hollow laugh. "Grant asylum to the very people Grindelwald is rounding up? And with valid, legal cause. I might as well be asking him to invade us."

At present, the Jewish people represented a difficult problem, a delicate issue.

Charlemagne remembered clearly the first time he had read about them when he had been a schoolboy, and how fascinated he had been with them - the Jews, the only group of muggles in the history of the entire world who had embraced their wizarding counterparts.

It had started many millennia ago when the Jewish people were bound by slavery to the Egyptian Kingdom. And in the midst of times of great misery for them, the first muggleborns had been born in their bosom. But unlike any other muggles who discovered that some of them had strange, inexplicable abilities, the Jews hadn't felt threatened, envious or scared of their muggleborns – they hadn't tortured, isolated or killed them.

No, they had seen their muggleborns as a benediction of their God, that their deity was giving them the means for them to break free from the chains of slavery – they had taken it as a sign that they were God's chosen people, because why else would their God make some of their own kind special just when they were so in need, and give them the wisdom to not fear them but to recognize a godly gift for what it was?

With the aid of their muggleborns, they managed to flee from Egypt and went in look for a territory to call their own. And with the passage of time and rise of new religions, they saw how other muggles viewed their own special people, how their religions spoke of evilness and how muggles instantly thought that their magical people were the very incarnation of such evil.

The Jews, however, remembered, and they closed quarters around their wizards, revering, cherishing and protecting them. They even generated their own version of a pureblood: a pure Jew descendant of only other Jew muggleborns.

With the passage of time, and with their muggle population growing much faster than their magical one, only some select Jewish muggle families remained attached to their magical kind – they made sure they remembered the reason why they were God's chosen people, they verbally passed down the knowledge from father to son, from mother to daughter.

Those families became the protectors of their wizards, living with them, willingly and lovingly serving them. Now, in modern times, only those numerous muggle families knew about their magical kind, since for the others their existence had become a mere legend, a fantasy, until it was no longer remembered at all. The others no longer remembered why, exactly, they were God's chosen people.

As a schoolboy, the story had filled Charlemagne with a hopeful, warm feeling, seeing that at least there was a race of muggles who had always viewed their own wizarding kind favorably.

Even now, they were the only muggles he truly respected, due to it. However, as a Minister of Magic, he understood the risk they represented.

Three years ago, when Gellert Grindelwald had abruptly become the German Minister of Magic, the wizard had sent envoys to all the Ministries in Europe – as any newly elected Minister would do.

Charlemagne remembered his meeting with the diplomat clearly – he remembered how the wizard had explained that Grindelwald was concerned about the possibility that the Statute of Secrecy would be irreparably broken by allowing the select Jewish muggle families to live with their wizards, to keep knowing, thus, that a whole wizarding world existed.

Indeed, when the International Confederation of Wizards had established the Statute of Secrecy in 1692, those Jewish muggle families, the Guardians, had refused to adhere to it; they had refused to allow themselves to be obliviated and parted from the Jewish wizarding families they were attached to. In the end, no one had forced them into complying with the Statute, but they were breaching it nonetheless.

It was so, that the German diplomat had exposed his case very reasonably. As the new German Minister of Magic, Grindelwald had the legal right to fully enforce the Statute of Secrecy in his own country, and when those Jewish muggle families still refused, he had the legal right to take measures; to round them up -the Guardian families with their attached wizarding families- and relocate them to somewhere isolated where there would be no risk of any of them interacting with other muggles and thus expose the existence of wizarding kind.

It was a harsh measure, but legal, and it only represented isolation for those Jews, nothing grave. So Charlemagne had told the German diplomat that he understood and that indeed he could find no legal wrongdoing in the matter, and thus, wouldn't interfere with a fellow Minister's decision.

"Valid, legal cause?" muttured Albus incredulously, before his expression hardened. "You must be referring to that feeble excuse that is flying around – that Jewish families are breaking the Statute of Secrecy. But he's not capturing them for that reason, he wants something from them-"

"And that is?" snapped McLaggen impatiently, now having grown very tired of his conversation with Dumbledore.

"I'm not certain, yet," admitted Albus quietly. He sighed and carded his fingers down his long, auburn beard, before he glanced up and gazed at the Minister over the top of his half-moon spectacles, his voice turning soft, "But believe me when I say, Charlemagne, that Grindelwald doesn't care about the Statute of Secrecy – he never has. He has always believed that wizarding kind could easily subjugate the muggle world, that it's our duty to do so-"

"He has 'always' believed?" McLaggen's brown eyes darkly gleamed, his lips curling upwards underneath his long, thin moustache. "Yes, you would know, wouldn't you?" His expression was now both nasty and accusing. "Some of us, who lived in Godric's Hollow, still remember. Someone of us recognized him. Indeed, when I saw the wizarding picture of Grindelwald accepting the post as the German Minister, I instantly knew who he was. He's older, just like we are, but his distinctive features haven't changed. He was that boy – Bathilda Bagshot's grandnephew, the one you were so close and cozy with."

Albus remained silent, merely meeting his gaze, and McLaggen felt a burst of vindictive pleasure erupt in his chest, as he continued in a poignant tone of voice, "I could bring it to light. I could expose you and easily bring you down." He let out a harsh chuckle, as he added sharply, "Or perhaps I could reopen the investigation into the death of your sister. I wonder what my Aurors would discover? Who killed her, Dumbledore? Was it you, Aberforth, or Grindelwald?" He shot him a nasty smile and then gestured at Albus' long, crooked nose. "Ah, no, Aberforth couldn't have been – he hit you in your sister's funeral, he broke your nose. I was there, I saw. It was you then?"

Still, Albus remained impassive, as unmovable as a stone statue, with an air of unconcern and calmness around him. Evidently, the wizard couldn't be easily riled up or threatened.

McLaggen shot him a scornful glance and then changed tacks, to bring up a matter that had been in his mind for some time.

With an expression of relish on his face, the Minister comfortably leaned back on his chair, eyeing Albus almost mockingly, as he intoned, "The most peculiar thing happened to me three months ago. I was paying a visit to a dear friend in Hogsmeade, and imagine my surprise when I saw that a new pub had been opened – the Hog's Head, it's called. Of course, out of curiosity, I entered the establishment – if it could be called such." His lips curled as he continued pleasantly, "Imagine my further surprise when I saw the bartender and the owner of the pub. Your brother is a bit pudgy around the middle, nowadays, isn't he?"

McLaggen chuckled dryly, shooting a glance at Albus to see his reaction. When none came forth, he smirked and added loftily, "The last time I saw him was in your sister's funeral. I heard that a French aunt of yours had taken him back to her country. I even heard that he finished school in Beauxbatons and then became their Care of Magical Creatures Professor. Following your footsteps in your profession, it seems, and Abe always did like his dirty, beastly animals, didn't he?" He tutted mockingly, as he added, "I've even heard that for many years you wrote letters to him and attempted to see him – and he always refused. So, it has been what, over six decades since you haven't seen each other? Or have you already attempted to see him at the Hog's Head, hmm?"

He cocked his head to a side, waiting to see if the wizard before him would speak. But Dumbledore seemed content to let him continue cruelly taunting him, perhaps waiting for him to get to the point. Nevertheless, Charlemagne was not fazed by the man's unflappable silence.

"I had to ask him, of course, why he had returned to England, where so many painful memories awaited him," said McLaggen, placidly stroking one curled tip of his moustache. "And you know what Aberforth said?" He dropped his hand from his face, and leveled a hard stare at Dumbledore. "He said he was there to keep an eye on you. I had to ask why, and he didn't mince words in his reply. It seems he had read in the newspapers about Grindewald's actions. And Aberforth spat out to me, 'That man is truly on the move now. Albus was weak once, I won't let him make the same mistake twice.'"

McLaggen paused and shot him a sneer. "I thought he was implying that due to your previous… 'friendship', shall we call it, with Grindelwald, you were at risk of having certain feeling of … fondness for the wizard bloom forth once again. That maybe there was a chance that you would join Grindelwald's side. But Aberforth quickly rid me of that notion – he even laughed! 'No', he said, 'Albus wouldn't join Grindelwald. He can't, even if he truly desired it, he couldn't. He fears him, because he fears himself.'"

The Minister paused, and then demanded acerbically, "What did he mean by that, Dumbledore?"

Albus sat stiffly on his seat, his shoulders tense, his face pale. But then he let out a wry chuckle. "Aberforth did always know me better than I know myself."

"Yes, very endearing. But explain yourself," pressed on McLaggen briskly, but the man before him remained silent and merely relaxed on his chair. Bristling, the Minister bit out, "It has just occurred to me that we have another solution for the Grindelwald matter."

Albus shot him a glance of interest, and Charlemagne continued grudgingly, as if pained by having to admit such thing, "You are hailed to be the most powerful wizard in England. And you are believed to be, possibly, one of the most powerful in the entire wizarding world. Thus, why not fight Grindelwald yourself, Dumbledore? A duel, face-to-face, one-to-one. If you defeat him, I can arrange matters so that you wouldn't be convicted of the crime of murdering another wizard. Indeed, if you killed him then you won't need to protect the identity of your spies and they can come forth and testify about Grindelwald's crimes, and your murder of him would be legally justified. You wouldn't be punished – you have my word on that." He paused and then added bitterly, "Perhaps you would even be hailed as a hero. So what say you?"

"That, I cannot do," muttered Albus quietly, his expression closed off, but there seemed to be a hint of deep, painful self-reproach in his eyes. "I cannot confront him face-to-face."

"Merlin's staff, Dumbledore!" burst out McLaggen, his contempt for the man clear on his face. "To think you're sinking to such lowly hypocrisy. You have no compunction in asking me to send thousands of British wizards to battle against Grindelwald's forces but you refuse to put your own life at risk!"

"Believe me," said Albus, his eyes flashing behind his spectacles with a hard glint, "the outcome of having me face Grindelwald directly might be more dangerous for all of us than anything else."

"I don't see how it could be so," bit out McLaggen, making a move to stand up from the table. "You're a coward, Dumbledore, plain and simple. It's clear to me now that it's just as your brother said - you fear Grindelwald."

"Because I fear myself," interjected Albus curtly, the very intensity of the gaze he leveled at McLaggen making the Minister halt in his motion and sit back down. "Temptation, Charlemagne. I would be tempted, and now I know myself well enough to be aware that it isn't advisable for anyone's sake that I'd be put in such a situation."

"Temptation?" spat out McLaggen, looking both incredulous and repulsed. "What, would you expire in a delirium of lust for the man if you came to face him?"

Albus chuckled wryly, shaking his head with amusement. "I'm not a hormonal teenager anymore, Charlemagne. No, that wasn't my meaning. There's no risk of that."

"Then what? That he might tempt you to his side with promises of power," snapped McLaggen, his eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Perhaps to share his rule over Germany and Austria with you?"

"Not that either," said Albus impassibly, as he stroked his long beard. "I've long ago learned that I'm the worst suited wizard to have any position of power. I wouldn't make that mistake. No, what he has to offer is… knowledge about some matters, clues about something that tempts me, that I desire, but I know that I shouldn't have – and neither should he."

"And now you speak in riddles!" burst out the Minister, at the very limit of his patience.

Albus didn't shoot him an apologetic glance, he merely stared at him as if conferring that that was as good as it could get. And that he certainly wasn't about to disclose any secrets to him.

"I believe I've said enough," remarked Albus calmly, before he skewered him with an intense gaze. "In the end, then, you will do nothing about the war nor the Jews, Charlemagne?"

"I've already answered that," said McLaggen crisply. "You know where I stand."

"Very well," said Albus gravely, nodding his head once. "Then I'm afraid we have, indeed, reached an impasse. You leave me no choice. I will keep pushing for my law to be passed. It is tantamount that we join the war as soon as possible, if not, all is lost."

McLaggen bristled and jumped to his feet, as he hissed out, "Just put me to the test, Dumbledore. I'm itching to clash swords with you once again. But this time, make no mistake, I'll use all available means at my disposal. I will veto your proposed law in the Wizengamot, as many times as I have to. I will drag your name through the mud by disclosing your former liaison with Grindelwald."

He took threatening steps around the table, and when he reached Albus, he leaned down to hiss in his ear, "And if it comes to the point I have no other option but to surrender and reach a peace agreement with Grindelwald and you do anything to endanger it - if even the vaguest rumor reach my ears that you have done anything to countermand my decision and thus put in peril the lives of British wizards- I'll have you branded as a traitor, judged by the full Criminal Court of the Wizengamot and carted off to Azkaban in the blink of an eye. Perhaps I'll have you thrown into the very cell in which your father died, hmm? Wouldn't that be nice?"

And with those last words he spat out, the Minister of Magic pulled himself up to his full height, slammed several golden galleons on the table and then briskly strode away.

Not at all daunted by McLaggen's threats, Albus sadly shook his head as he watched how the wizard left Dionysius' Abode.

There was much to be done, now that Albus had ascertained that they would find no support in the Minister of Magic. Indeed, his mind was already filled with all that had to be discussed in that evening's meeting of the Order of the Phoenix. So much to do, so much to prepare for and organize, and so much to decide.

With a weary exhalation of breath, Albus flicked his wand once, his eyes growing wide when the sparkling numbers that floated in front of him indicated how late the hour had become.

Suddenly remembering his other chore of the day, the wizard patted his pockets, feeling the bumps of the two letters he had to deliver. He quickly stood up, left his galleons on the table, and dashed as quickly as possible out into Leisure Alley.

Hopefully, the visit to the orphanage would be an easy and quick one. Besides giving the letters and explaining about the existence of the magical world to the boys, it was just a matter of seeing why one of them didn't have a surname, after all.

Yes, it would be quick, and then he could concentrate on vastly more important matters.


	7. Part I: Chapter 7

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all reviewers!

Now, clarifying some points:

I didn't blindly choose to have a McLaggen as the Minister of Magic. Indeed, in canon, Slughorn should have said something to Cormac McLaggen -in the meetings of the Slug Club- about the boy's relative who once was the Minister of Magic, but he didn't. So there must be a reason why Slughorn didn't mention Charlemagne McLaggen and why he didn't fawn over Cormac due to his relation to the man.

Hint: Slughorn ignored Draco Malfoy…. Enough said, lol ^^ We'll see what becomes of Charlemagne McLaggen. But don't be too hard on him, the man means well - what he does is for the sake of British wizarding kind, in his opinion.

Also, for certain matters I'm following the timeline of Harry Potter Lexicon. Thus, Tom Riddle was born on December 31, 1926 and he'll be attending Hogwarts in 1938 (current present year in this chapter). But whether Dumbledore will defeat Grindelwald in 1945 or not, remains to be seen, because Harry's presence will surely change many things.

 **IMPORTANT** : I couldn't fit in another word in the summary, so for those who are asking, this fic will have **M/M** , I don't think there will be explicit things though, and  **NO Mpreg**  either.

 **Note:**  I couldn't fit in all the scenes I wanted in this chapter, it would have been too long. I'm sorry, it will come in the next chappie – and it won't be more than a week or two before I write and post it.

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**Part I: Chapter 7**

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Alice Jones had finished all her chores for the day. The children were in their respective bedrooms, packing the things they would take along with them the following morning for their excursion to the seaside. And Kathy was in her office, no doubt going through the orphanage's accounts and having a glass of gin to relieve her tiredness.

Meanwhile, Alice was standing at one corner of the empty playroom, right in front of a rackety table holding the wireless – or 'radio', as some people called it– which was Mr. Robert Hutchins' latest donation to the orphanage.

Her ears were focused on the voice of the BBC's newscaster and her eyes darted now and then towards the window, in the hopes of seeing Robert striding towards the orphanage, to pay her and the boys a visit that evening.

Much had happened in the last years, and many things had changed in the orphanage and in her life.

Life at the orphanage, in particular, had changed drastically ever since Kathy had become the Matron. And though Alice was very glad for it -because her friend was an excellent administrator and no longer did the children go around wearing rags or without having milk or meat for whole months- she couldn't say that Mrs. Sharpe's parting had been a happy occasion.

It had all changed nearly three years ago. At first, taking a turn for the worse after the incident of the blow up of the window in Mrs. Sharpe's office. Mr. Jenkins' wounds, caused by the volley of glass shards, had been grave. They had been forced to call for a doctor, who hadn't managed to salvage Mr. Jenkins' right eye nor prevent the man's face disfigurement.

If Mr. Jenkins had been a foul man before, after that, he became unbearable. For two weeks he had lashed out at the children, his temper becoming increasingly violent and markedly focused on Harry and Tom in particular, more than ever.

The man had used any excuse to dole out punishment to the Riddle brothers – for raising their voices too high, for being too loud when playing, for running along the corridors, or for walking too slow or being too silent. Even the feeblest of reasons became an excuse so that the man could can them.

And Harry, who back then hadn't yet suffered such punishment, came to know what it was to be brutally canned on the buttocks and what it was to spend a whole day and night in the small, dark, Punishment Room.

The other children had been terrified; barely speaking, keeping their eyes cast down, their faces pale, barely moving so that they wouldn't make a noise that could catch Mr. Jenkins' attention.

Those two weeks had been sheer torture for Alice as well, since she hadn't been able to do much about it. Both her and Kathy had appealed to Mrs. Sharpe several times, asking her to restrain him in some way, even imploring her to fire Mr. Jenkins before something truly grave happened. The nasty old woman had refused, siding with her old friend.

And then, one day, when Alice had been in the kitchen preparing the children's meals, she had heard an ear-splitting scream of pure fear.

Alice had run as she had never run before, and she had been the first to reach the entrance of the orphanage, to see Mrs. Sharpe taking her last tumble down the stairs, her body crashing on the landing, right in front of the entrance door.

Alice had shrieked then -just when Mrs. Sharpe's scream abruptly ended- when she could see nothing but the old woman's neck twisted in an impossible angle, her knees unnaturally bent, one of her elbows grossly sticking out.

And then, still shrieking, because she had seemed unable to stop the sounds coming out of her mouth, she had glanced up at the staircase's landing on the first floor. And there she had seen him: Tom Riddle, standing like a statue, fixedly staring down at Mrs. Sharpe's body.

In the next instant, when Kathy and the children had arrived at the site, Tom had vanished. But even when Kathy shook her shoulders and frantically started asking her question, Alice's eyes had remained riveted on the empty space Tom had left behind – still in shock.

That day had been pure chaos; the children screaming and crying, Kathy having to take them away so that they wouldn't keep staring at Mrs. Sharpe's body... Alice, after Kathy slapped her out of her daze, had run to the nearest police station. And soon after, two policemen and an ambulance had arrived.

Mrs. Sharpe's body had been taken away, the police officers had asked her questions, and she had recounted the little she had seen but had been unable to mention Tom. But something had been gripping her heart with fear, and that night, for the first time, she had purposely invaded the privacy of the Riddle brothers.

She had had to know. Over the years she had allowed many things to happen, she had protected the boys in many ways, but murder –no matter how much she loved Tom- was something she couldn't turn a blind eye to. As much as it would deeply pain and wound her, she had been prepared to turn him to the police if she discovered that Tom was the cause for Mrs. Sharpe's death.

After the ambulance took away Mrs. Sharpe's body and the children were ordered to go to their rooms and remain there, Alice had followed Tom and Harry at a prudent distance, so that she wouldn't be detected. She had seen in Harry's expression -as the boy took Tom by the arm and pulled him along with a firm grip- that Harry would be questioning his brother as soon as they were alone.

When they had closed the door of their bedroom behind them, Alice had come forth and had pressed her ear against the door.

At first, there had seemed to be a tense silence in the bedroom. Then, a shuffling sound, as if one of the boys had taken a seat on a bed. And at last, she had heard Harry's voice, low and quiet.

Inside the room, a seven-year-old Harry had been standing before his brother, who was placidly lounging on his bed, eyeing him both expectantly and challengingly, Tom's lips upturned into a faint smirk.

"Did you do it?" piped little Harry, biting his lower lip as he pierced his bright green eyes into Tom's dark blue ones.

"Do what?" drawled Tom, a hint of mockery in his tone as he arched an eyebrow.

"You know what," snapped Harry impatiently, huffing as he uneasily carded his fingers through his unruly hair. He glowered at him as he whispered harshly under his breath, "Kill her. Did you do it?"

Tom's arched eyebrow rose even higher, though his smirk seemed to spread on his face, bellying the impassive tone of his voice as he said, "Why would you think I had anything to do with that? You heard the policemen. It was an accident."

Harry narrowed his eyes at him, clearly seeing that he was being taunted. "You left the playroom, you told me you were going to our room to fetch a book, remember? You didn't come back, and some minutes after that-" he shuddered slightly, his eyes losing their focus "-we all heard that… that scream. And then we rushed out and saw Mrs. Sharpe…"

The small boy trailed off, unable to recount the sight of her… her head and limbs bent so awkwardly. Harry shuddered again and swallowed thickly, before he pinned his brother with his gaze, adamantly.

Tom scoffed loudly, waving a hand dismissively. "I cannot believe you can accuse me of…" He shook his head, and then said curtly, "I did see what happened, but I had nothing to do with it. I was coming out of our room when I saw Mrs. Sharpe in the corridor." He shot Harry a sneer, as he continued, "She was hiding her bottles of gin. You know where, in that broom cupboard she uses. And she was drunk. I saw her taking the first steps down the stairs, and then she lost her balance and tumbled down. That's all."

A deep exhalation of breath was let out by Harry, his expression clearly relieved as he rubbed his eyes under his glasses. In the next second, he plopped down on the opposite bed, relaxing and grinning at Tom.

"I suppose, if I had run very fast," said Tom, his expression mussing in a clinical, analytical way, displaying no remorse, "I could have perhaps grabbed her before she fell…"

Little Harry nibbled on his bottom lip but said nothing at that. He simply shot his brother a glance, and shrugged. "It doesn't matter now."

Tom widely smirked at him, and simply said, "True."

Behind the closed door, Alice –as Harry had done before her, seconds ago- had exhaled with relief. Thanking God that, indeed, Tom was blameless. It had pained and disappointed her that the boy hadn't tried his best to save Mrs. Sharpe from her fall to death, but it was hardly a crime.

Thus, with her conscience clear, Alice had stopped eavesdropping on them and retired to her own room.

However, inside the Riddle brothers' bedroom, matters hadn't ended there.

As he heard the sound of footfalls becoming fainter, Tom's eyes flickered away from their closed door and he smirked as he stood up to his feet.

Quickly, he moved forwards until he was towering over Harry; looming over, forcing a startled and wide-eyed Harry to lie back on his bed, supporting himself with his elbows.

"Wh-what is it?" stuttered Harry, perplexed by his brother's weird actions and the strange, kind of sinister glint in Tom's dark blue eyes.

"What if I said now that I haven't told you the full truth?" said Tom, his smirk widening when a baffled expression crossed Harry's face. He leaned down even further, his nose nearly touching Harry's, as he whispered quietly, "I wasn't just leaving our room. I was much further along the corridor. Mrs. Sharpe had her back turned to me. She didn't see me. When she tripped, I was just one step away from her. I only had to stretch out my hand, and I could have grabbed her. But I didn't."

He paused, for a brief moment, before his eyes gleamed, almost feverishly. Licking his lips, he breathed out heavily, "And I enjoyed watching how she fell and hearing her screams. And when she crashed, I stared at her and I knew she had died, and it made me feel happy."

Harry stared at him, with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide, his heart pumping hard and fast in his chest, his breath hitching.

Tom shot him a glance, before he abruptly pulled away and stood up to his full height. "What do you say now?"

Harry gaped some more, and then blinked - not quite sure of what he was being asked. At last, he quickly sat up on his bed and then frowned, glancing up at his brother yet remaining silent.

A hard expression spread on Tom's handsome face as he crossed his arms over his small chest, his eyes narrowing and pinning Harry, as he demanded, "Well? Are you going to do anything about it?"

Harry's frown deepened as he gazed down at his lap, his fingers fretfully playing with the hem of his shirt.

Now he did understand what his brother wanted. It wouldn't be the first time that Tom tested him in that way. Always, when Tom had done something Harry felt was wrong, his brother wanted to see his reaction. Tom wanted to see if Harry would turn on him or accept him for what he had done.

Harry had never understood it – the need Tom had to be reassured by him. As if Tom thought that their relationship as brothers was a feeble and easily breakable one – as if Tom feared that it could be so, and also feared that due to it, that Harry could turn away from him if Tom went too far. But Harry never would, and he couldn't understand how Tom didn't know that already, since he implicitly expected the same loyalty from Tom, and knew he had it as well.

"I won't tell on you," said Harry finally, his tone of voice firm, despite the wariness he felt with Tom's confession – that his brother had enjoyed watching as Mrs. Sharpe broke her bones as she went down and hearing her screams of terror…

Harry shook his head at himself. It didn't matter. It filled him with apprehension and he couldn't understand how on earth Tom could enjoy such things, but Tom was his brother.

He had always accepted Tom as he was, with all his weird quirks and all – and his brother had many of those. And Tom accepted him, even if Tom complained much about his loudness, and chatterings, and whinings.

Tom's eyes narrowed to slits, his posture unchanged, as he bore his eyes into Harry's even more intensely than before. His lips contorted as he sneered acidly, "She died because I did nothing. I might as well have shoved her, no? It's almost the same, isn't it?"

"Maybe," mumbled Harry, glancing away from him, a hint of uneasiness resurging with Tom's pressing.

"So?" bit out Tom impatiently, clearing expecting Harry to say something more - perhaps to rail at him, or chastise him, or say how awful and monstrous he was.

Little Harry fiercely scowled at him and snapped, miffed, "So nothing! She's dead and I'm going to sleep!"

And with a huff, he yanked his bed sheets to a side and jumped under them -in his day clothes and with shoes and all- instantly rolling over to turn his back towards Tom.

As he firmly slammed his eyes shut, willing himself to fall asleep as quickly as possible, he heard Tom snorting contemptuously. Yet his brother seemed satisfied, since he no longer pressed the issue.

Some minutes of blessed silence led Harry to believe that he would, at last, be left alone. However, he heard his brother speak again, but it was in a quiet, subdued whisper.

"We won't have to worry about Jenkins anymore. That's why I did it."

Harry wouldn't understand what his brother had meant by that until two more days had passed. And Alice herself would remain ignorant of the fact that events after Mrs. Sharpe's death unraveled precisely how Tom had expected and planned.

Indeed, two days after, a man from the government visited the orphanage and then asked questions around the neighborhood. In the end, the man offered to Kathy the post of Matron, which she had accepted with great aplomb, much to Alice's joy.

"How little everyone knows him!" had bitterly grumbled Kathy to Alice about her horrid husband, after the man from the government had disclosed that it was the favorable remarks about her well-respected husband from the people of the neighborhood -as well as Kathy's long years of service in the orphanage- which had led him to choose her as the new Matron.

Mrs. Cole's first measure as Matron of St. Jerome's Orphanage had been to lay off Mr. Jenkins, which was met with everyone's rejoice. One small boy in particular had gazed at his brother with sudden understanding, and with wide, green eyes filled with loving admiration and gratefulness.

With Mr. Jenkins' wage, Kathy had afforded to hire two new caregivers – young neighborhood girls who had instantly fit in, their sweet temper much like Alice's.

And thus, all their lives had taken a turn for the better, even if Alice had heard that Mr. Jenkins was still living in their neighborhood, now working at the docks.

What had caused some problems was that the resentful, odious man had taken to heavy drinking, spending his evenings at the pub, where he told to everyone who would listen that his disfigurement was the Riddle boys' fault.

Indeed, those who had forgotten about Father Patrick's ramblings, now had reason to remember it once again, and this time, including Harry.

To Alice's pained frustration, she had seen how once more Tom was eyed with wariness and dislike, and how even some cast such glances at Harry as well. And she had seen that, even though Tom was utterly unaffected by it, or appeared to be so, it did cause a shadow of hurt to emerge in Harry's normally cheerful green eyes.

On the other hand, a positive influence had entered the boys' lives. Indeed, Mr. Robert Hutchins' association with not only Alice but, through her, with the orphanage as a whole and the Riddle boys in particular, had deepened.

It had started the day in which Kathy's suspicions -regarding all the times in which Alice took Harry along with her to shop for groceries- had reached a peak. That day, Kathy had followed them, and her lips had pursed when she had seen them entering Mr. Hutchins' shop.

Not really surprised, since she had already heard ill-natured rumors about it, Mrs. Cole had swept inside the store. Her eyes had narrowed, seeing Alice cozily chatting with Mr. Hutchins while little Harry was playing with some toys on a shelf.

Kathy had stomped her way to the pair, catching them unawares and then startling them, when she had boomed, "Vile tongues are already wagging, and I will not have it - Alice has a good reputation to maintain! If you wish to continue seeing her, you will do it properly."

"Kathy!" had squawked Alice, utterly mortified.

Alice had known that her friend watched over her like an older, protective sister would, even if there was only two years of difference between their ages. And she also knew that Kathy feared that she would make the same mistake Kathy had, when choosing a husband.

Nevertheless, Alice's face had reddened and she had shot Mr. Hutchins an apologetic glance as she attempted to grab Kathy to pull her away.

But neither of them had paid any attention to her. Mr. Hutchins had looked amused for a brief moment, though he had been wise enough to wipe such expression from his face the moment Kathy scowled at him.

"Properly chaperoned," had continued Kathy in the same stern tone of voice, as she pointedly shot a glance at little Harry, who was by then gawking at the squabbling grown-ups. "Not by a child, but by me."

Instantly, Mr. Hutchins had held up his hands in a gesture of surrender, a small smile tugging his lips as he had said candidly, "I'm willing to abide by your rules, and I'm open to suggestions."

Kathy had seemed startled for a moment, clearly not having expected such easy victory. She had eyed him closely, as if reshaping her previous opinions about the man.

Finally, her shoulders had relaxed as she had said curtly, "Very well. I give you leave to visit Alice at the orphanage during the evenings – after you close your shop, if you will."

Robert Hutchins, or Bob as Harry called him, had immediately agreed, more than gladly, sharing a joyful smile with Alice.

And so it came to happen that the man became a fixture at the orphanage. Not only playing with the children, and sometimes helping Alice with her last chores of the day, as well as repairing whatever needed to be fixed, but also giving little gifts for the enjoyment of the full house– the latest of which would be a brand new radio.

He had even found a solution for a problem Alice had one day found herself with. Indeed, she had been noticing that her fairy tales no longer satisfied the children. The girls still seemed to enjoy them, but the boys had lost interest, even Harry.

She had been a bit flummoxed, and it had been Robert who had chuckled as he said, "They're growing up, Alice. They need something with more adventure and fights in it. I think I have just the thing."

His clear blue eyes had sparkled, and the following day he had arrived at the orphanage with two books in hand: The Iliad and The Odyssey. Alice had gaped. She had heard about them, and indeed, once she had even attempted to read one of them, but had found the archaic poetry impossible to understand.

She had at first thought that perhaps the man had taken leave of his senses. Yet, he hadn't read from the books but used them as reference, as he started telling the stories in his own words, easily understood by any child.

So it was that, in the evenings, while Alice did her story-telling with the girls, Robert took charge of entertaining the boys. Harry soon came to worship Mr. Hutchins, and the boy couldn't stop babbling and asking to be told more about Ulysses and his adventures with cyclops, sirens, the six-headed monster Scylla and the witch-goddess Circe, or about the interfering Greek gods and their quarrels, or about Achilles and his good friend Patroclus, King Agamemnon and his brother Menelaus, Paris and his beloved Helen...

Not much later after that tradition had begun, Robert had come up with another brilliant idea.

In those months he had been expanding his business. His shop had been doing extremely well and he had been able to afford to buy two used Ford Model A station wagons, with which his store could deliver its wares and foodstuff directly to homes and other shops.

One late evening, when Alice, Kathy and Robert had been sharing some cups of gin in Kathy's office, he had musingly proposed, "I have an old friend who lives two hours away - we worked together in a factory up North. Now he lives and works in a charming town by the seaside, and he absolutely adores children. We could all go together to visit him one of these weekends, and the children could play in the beach. I can drive one wagon, and I can ask one of my lads to drive the other, and between the two wagons, we should all fit together… Some other month, we can go to the countryside. Fresh air will do the children good."

Both Alice and Kathy had readily agreed. Indeed, even Kathy had come to grudgingly warm up to the man.

From then onwards, at least twice a year the children of the orphanage were taken to Southend-on-Sea, where they were always warmly welcomed by Mr. Hutchins' friend, Old John Bryce.

On sunny days, the old man's son, twenty-one year old Frank Bryce, would take them to the shore. In those occasions, Robert had taken it upon himself to teach the boys how to swim, and even Tom Riddle had participated –with the cheerless determination he applied to master any skill which he deemed could be useful, even if it wasn't a source of joy and pleasure as it was for the other boys.

By sunset, before making the trip back to London, they usually partook of tea and biscuits in Old John's small cottage, all cramped together, with the boys surrounding the old man, sitting crossed-legged as they eagerly prompted him to tell them stories about his days as a soldier, fighting in the Great War.

Alice had been vastly tempted to put a stop to it when the old man gave unadorned details about life in the trenches on the Western Front, about lice, rats and diseases, hunger and despair, about the death of comrades and all other sorts of information which, in her opinion, should not be heard by any child's ears.

Robert had halted her, putting a hand on her shoulder as he whispered, "Let the boys hear about it. Let them see war in its crude and cruel reality. It does no good to molly-coddle them, Alice."

However, by the expressions on the boys' faces, it hadn't seemed to her as if they were taking it seriously. Indeed, they had looked as if they were being told of great, fantastic adventures.

"How many Germans did you kill?" had piped in Harry breathlessly, his eyes bright with hero-worship and fascination as he gazed up at the man.

Alice had pursed her lips, not at all liking the turn in the conversation. The last thing the children needed to hear was about gore and murder, about the disemboweling of soldiers who got themselves trapped in barbed wire, about death by asphyxiation from poisonous gases, about dismemberment caused by land-mines and machine guns.

"Wait," had said Robert to her, stopping her from interfering once again. "Old John is a judicious man, you'll see."

At Harry's question, the old man had then spit out his chewed tobacco, his crinkled, aged eyes sweeping through his audience as he boomed sternly, "There's no honor or fun in war, boys! There's nothing noble about killing a fellow human being. War is nothing but senseless death – there are no victors! War means that fellows like me, and like you, when you grow up, are sent to their deaths, for the greed and power-hunger of politicians!"

The boys had looked properly chastised then, most of them lowering their heads and cringing, though after a brief pause, little Harry had persisted in his chiming voice, "But how many did you kill?"

At that, Alice had shot Robert a scowl, to which he had replied with a shrug of his shoulders as he chuckled wryly, "Oh well, boys will be boys. I was the same at that age. When they're older, they'll understand."

Gratefully, for Alice, Tom had then decided to ask questions. He had been the only boy who hadn't seemed that much awed or interested in knowing about fighting and battles. Instead, he had wanted to know about the causes for the war, about the political maneuverings behind the scenes. It had been Robert who had answered. Even if the man had been a young boy in those days, it was clear that he had later studied the matter. And Alice had seen then, in Tom's expression, how grudging respect had been born.

As often happened when someone garnered the affection and attention of Harry, Tom had always scowled every time Robert spent time with his brother. But from that day onwards, when both Tom and Robert had discovered that they shared similar intellectual interests, Tom had seemed to come to tolerate the man's presence in both his and his brother's lives.

Indeed, after that day, Robert had started bringing books and newspapers to the orphanage, for Tom, and he had begun spending alone-time with the boy, discussing God knew what. They seemed to have formed a frail, tentative bond of some kind, just as Robert had formed a deep one with Harry.

Nevertheless, although Alice had brimmed with joy as she saw that Robert started to love the Riddle brothers as much as she did, there had been two instances in which she and Robert had had vastly differing opinions of how boys should be raised.

The first had been when Robert had learned about Harry's fascination with motorcars, which had only increased with the years. And when the man had decided to use some weekends to teach Harry how to drive, Alice had argued against it – worried about the boy's safety and considering that he was too young for that.

In the end, she had relented, but she hadn't liked it nonetheless.

They would use one of Robert's station wagons, with Harry siting on the man's lap as their drove around the neighborhood, the boy shrieking with joy and waving at passers-by, with his short legs dangling on top of Robert's without reaching the pedals, but nevertheless guiding the car with one small hand on the wheel and the other on the stick.

The second occasion had been when, one late evening after story-telling time and when the children had been ordered to go to their rooms for their night of sleep, Harry had approached them.

"Can you teach me how to fight?" he had asked Robert, peering up at him with eager anticipation and with wide, innocent green eyes that had the ability to cajole anyone into doing anything.

However, Alice had seen the quick side-glance that Harry had shot at Dennis Bishop as the older boy left the playroom, and her lips had pursed into a flat line.

For some time, it had seemed to her that Dennis had stopped bullying Harry. Indeed, for some reason, the older boy seemed wary to attempt to do so; he even seemed to fear to be around Harry or Tom. But that peaceful period of time had only lasted for a few years.

Lately, she had caught Dennis tripping Harry, or painfully yanking his hair or insulting him. She always chastised the older boy, most sharply and sternly. And even though it was clear to her that her words didn't have much effect on Dennis, Harry's request could only lead to further trouble.

"Absolutely not," she had snapped, before giving Robert a chance to speak first.

"I will," had interjected Robert, beaming at little Harry and utterly ignoring her angered expression. He had mussed Harry's wild mop of hair, conspiratorially grinning at him. "I can teach you how to box - how to fist-fight. Will that do?"

"Yeah!" had burst out Harry, with an utterly excited expression on his face and a satisfied, mischievous glint in his green eyes that could bode nothing good.

And with that, the small boy had cheerfully gone back to his brother's side so that they could leave the playroom together.

Alice had instantly rounded on Robert, but the man had raised a hand, halting whatever she had to say in order to be allowed to speak first.

"I was also the runt of the litter at his age. I had to learn how to defend myself from bullies. You cannot protect him from it - it would do him more harm than good in the long-run. Let them fight it out and settle their issues between themselves."

Alice had not agreed with him on that matter, but as often happened, Robert –just as Harry– had the uncanny ability to persuade her of just about anything.

Months later, during which Robert had taught Harry his lessons of how to fight like a 'man', Alice had seen the consequences of it.

One evening, when Kathy had been locked up in her office working on the orphanage's accounts, and when Alice and the two young caregivers had been preparing dinner for the children, they had heard loud shouts coming from the playroom.

Robert had been with them, helping them out, and he had jumped to his feet, a vague smile on his face as he said, "Stay put. I'll see to it. I'll make sure that neither of them seriously injures the other."

The man obviously had an inkling of what was going on and had clearly been expecting it. Alice had frowned with dissatisfaction but allowed Robert to take care of it, since she herself had had her hands full with taking care that the chicken casserole they were preparing wouldn't burn in the oven.

Twenty minutes later, when Alice had been about to wipe her hands clean on her apron so that she could go to the playroom and firmly put at end to it –since the encouraging shouts and the yells of the children had only gotten louder- silence had abruptly reigned in the house, and then the sounds of faint, congratulatory cheering.

A few moments after, Robert had stridden back into the kitchen, with one hand on Harry's shoulder, a look of pride on the man's face.

Alice, for her part, had gaped in horror as she caught sight of the small boy – Harry's lovely face covered in bruises, his mop of hair drenched in sweat, his pouty lips split in the middle, bleeding, one of his beautiful eyes swollen to such degree that it was clamped shut with black and yellow around it.

"I won, Alice!" had proudly declared Harry as he ran towards her, visibly limping in one leg. He had then peered up at Robert. "Didn't I, Bob? Dennis looks much worse than I do, right?"

"He sure does," had said Mr. Hutchins, warmly smiling down at the boy as he patted him on the back. "You're a young man now. You fought very bravely."

Harry had positively beamed, and had then turned around to face Alice once more. He had widely smiled at her, a wide gap in his row of teeth. Then he had brought up an open hand, with a small white tooth lying in the middle of his palm, as he asked her, "Um - can you glue it back?"

Alice had nearly fainted.

Robert, in the meanwhile, had chuckled and then tenderly gripped the boy's chin to inspect his mouth, as he said at last, "It's a milk tooth. Don't worry, Harry, the real one will grow at some point."

Little Harry had nodded, seemingly not too concerned if the tooth grew back or not, but he carefully pocketed the one he had lost, as if it were a treasured trophy representing his victory and his passage into adulthood.

Alice had then finally gathered back her wits and had barked out orders for the two caregivers to take Harry to his room and tend to his injuries, and to do the same with Dennis Bishop. When they were gone, she had instantly given Robert a piece of her mind.

Nevertheless, despite that they didn't see eye-to-eye about such matters, Alice had known that he was the man for her.

It had been one day, when Alice's eyes had strayed to watch how Robert play-acted the battle between Prince Hector of Troy and Achilles –making Harry play the part of Achilles, causing the small boy to beam and then shriek with joy as they mock-fought with sticks for swords- that she had known that she had fallen utterly and irredeemably in love with the man.

And somehow, they had started speaking of themselves as a couple. And at some point, they had openly started to discuss the possibility of their marriage and their wishes for the future.

"I can give you a good life," had said Robert to her, tenderly cradling her hands within his large ones, one day in which they had found themselves sitting alone in the kitchen. "And I can provide a good home for those two boys as well."

Alice had gasped, misty-eyed as she stared at him and saw the loving expression on his handsome face. It had become clear to her, then, that he had seen the longing and yearning in her eyes when she had been watching him interact with Tom and Harry – that he already knew what she dreamed about.

"Both of them are extraordinary in their own ways," had continued Robert, then shooting her a warm, knowing smile. "And I love them already as a father would his sons. We can both give them a good home-life. After we marry, we can adopt them, and then we can have other children of our own."

After that, Alice had been in a state of perpetual joy, walking on clouds, humming songs and with such high spirits that nothing seemed able to dampen her mood.

However, it all started to crash down when Austria had been annexed to Germany.

"It's a breach of the Treaties of Versailles and St. Germain!" had boomed Robert irately, in such a fierce state as Alice had never seen him before. "And no one is doing anything about it– they're letting the Nazis do whatever they want! Even Churchill does nothing – I expected more from him!"

He had jerkily carded his fingers through his hair, angrily, as he spat out, "Last year Churchill said that if he had to choose between Communism and Nazism, he would choose Communism, but he sure isn't acting like it! The League of Nations opposed Japan's invasion of Manchuria, yet Churchill viewed it favorably because, according to him, the Japanese have the menace of Soviet Russia on one side and the 'chaos' of spreading Communism in China, on the other. Now the Japanese have signed a pact with Germany and they have taken over Shanghai and Nanking, killing hundreds of thousand Chinese civilians. And Churchill turns a blind eye, and he's even been praising Mussolini, of all people, until recently. And he's saying that the Spanish Republican government is a Communist front and he's praising Franco for starting a civil war there. And now he's doing nothing about Austria!"

Alice had gaped at him, not understanding what Robert was so indignant and angered about, and she had stuttered, "But the Austrians voted in favor-"

"Don't be naïve, lass!" had snapped Robert with frustration. "Their votes have no validity – they were already invaded by Nazi troops!"

Alice had decided not to argue about it. Indeed, she no longer shared his opinion about some of his views. For starters, in the last couple of years, she had seen no mention in the newspapers about Jews, homosexuals and other kinds of minorities being persecuted in Germany and being carted off who-knew-where. Not a word was said.

Thus, she had come to believe that Robert and his fellow Communist friends had to be wrong regarding their suspicions. Surely if something like that had been going on in Germany, everyone would know about it by now! After all, the newspapers did write a lot about Stalin and the prison camps of forced labour he had, condemning the man for it and for a whole load of other things.

Robert's beliefs now sounded like ridiculous conspiracy theories to her and she wished she could persuade him to stop attending secret Communist meetings – those people were only filling his head with nonsensical ideas.

Not much later after that, news had come about Germany occupying some region of Czechoslovakia she had never before in her life heard about. That day, when Robert had visited the orphanage, he had asked to talk to her in private. There had been a very grave, strange expression on his face; somehow, he had looked satisfied but also sorrowful.

"I'd marry you right now if I could," he had said to her when they had been alone. "But what kind of selfish man would I be if I married you just to abandon you in the next second to go to war, when I could give you no reassurances that I'd come back a whole man or even alive. I won't have you chained to a cripple you'd have to care after for the rest of your life, and I wouldn't want you to know the grief and sorrow that comes with widowhood. I can't marry you until the war in Europe doesn't end-"

"But there's no war!" had cried out Alice, utterly perplexed, hurt and fearful.

Robert had shaken his head, saying softly, "Don't be silly, girl. Now everyone can see that the Germans are not satisfied with only having Austria. Now that they have occupied the Sudetenland, Britain and France will have to take action. They will surely declare war on Germany."

Alice had pleaded and sobbed and done her best to change his mind, with no success. Yet, she didn't care if he had to go to war; she would wait and marry him no matter in what condition he came back.

Moreover, secretly, she hoped he wouldn't have to go to war at all. She hoped that if it came to that, that the British Army wouldn't take him because of the two fingers he had missing in one of his hands - how could he properly hold a gun or whatever other weapon when he had such disability? But she couldn't be certain that it would work as she hoped.

Thus, at present, she was listening to the radio with fierce intensity, as she had done for the last couple of weeks, glued to the contraption every single minute of spare time she had. She was waiting to hear the news that would define her life.

Their Prime Minister, Neville Chamberlain, had sent Lord Runciman to Czechoslovakia in order to see if he could obtain a settlement between the Czechoslovak government and the Germans in the Sudetenland. The Lord had returned without accomplishing anything.

And now every newspaper and radio station was speculating that soon, the Prime Minister himself would have to travel to personally negotiate with Hitler.

For Alice, she believed it could mean two things: that Chamberlain wouldn't reach an agreement and thus Britain would declare war and she would lose Robert and have to wait to marry him until he came back; or that the Prime Minister would convince Hitler to withdraw from the Sudetenland, and thus there would be peace in Europe and she could marry, adopt the Riddle boys, and lead a happy life.

"…the Duke of Windsor and his Duchess, the once Wallis Simpson, twice divorcee American who aspired to become our Queen and for whom the Duke abdicated as King Edward VIII, have been seen fraternizing with Nazi…"

Alice bit her lips with sheer exasperation and turned off the wireless – evidently, no news regarding Chamberlain's expected trip would be coming forth that day.

Suddenly, from the corner of her eyes, something of a flashy yellow color caught her attention. A man? She blinked as she peered out the window. It had started to rain heavily, and she couldn't see well, but it had to have been her imagination. There was no one outside.

Abruptly, the doorbell rang loudly and Alice nearly jumped out of her skin. Befuddled, wondering who on earth could be at the orphanage's doorstep at such an impolite, late hour in the evening, she made her way to the entrance and briskly pulled the door open.

Then, her jaw dropped and she simply gawked.

Before her was some kind of one-man macabre spectacle – wavy hair and beard of a coppery red both reaching the man's waist, a suit of blinding canary yellow, pinstriped with …violet lines? And the material was velvet, of all things. Her eyes swiveled along the man's frame as she attempted to take him in. He was not carrying an umbrella, yet, that velvet looked dry…

The man cleared his throat and Alice's eyes snapped up to meet his bespectacled gaze, her mouth still hanging open.

"Good evening," said the man pleasantly, his eyes looking kind and with a faint expression of amusement crossing his features, perhaps due to her reaction to him. "I would like to have a word with the Matron – Mrs. Cole, I believe. Is she here?"

Alice was still bewildered and dazed -all that bright yellow…- but not to such degree that the man's eccentric appearance didn't raise some alarm bells in her mind.

Who was to say that the man wasn't some kind of lunatic, perhaps a violent one. And they didn't have a man in the house to protect them, as Mr. Jenkins could have once done - not that she regretted one bit that the odious man was gone. And if Robert wouldn't be visiting her that evening…

Biting her lower lip with apprehension, her hands clenched the wooden door, as she inch-by-inch attempted to close it before the man could realize it.

Abruptly, Alice suddenly felt very calm and warm. And she shook her head, frowning at herself. What had she been thinking? Obviously the man represented no threat.

She peered at him, seeing nothing but benevolent eyes gazing back at her, patiently and kindly.

"Yes, of course," said Alice when she found her voice, opening the door wide open as she gestured at him. "Please do come inside."

As the man entered the hallway, she turned her face to a side to call over her shoulder, "Kath- er, Mrs. Cole, you have a visitor!"

She closed the door and turned around to stare at him, prompting, "Your name, sir?"

"Mr. Dumbledore."

"A Mr. Dumby-"

"Dumbledore."

"Right," said Alice, blinking once at the weird name, before she yelled once more, "Um - a Mr. Dumberdoor!"

"Show him in!" came Kathy's muffled voice from a distance, sounding as perplexed and curious as Alice herself felt now regarding their unexpected visitor.

"If you'd follow me…." mumbled Alice, trailing off as she started down the corridor.

When they reached the door of Kathy's office, she knocked once and then opened it without waiting for a reply.

The man with the strange name, and an even more bizarre appearance, thanked Alice before he crossed the threshold.

Alice was bursting with curiosity, and she shared a glance with Kathy, but she nonetheless closed the door after the man entered the office and granted them privacy.

* * *

Kathy, seated behind her cluttered desk, stared at the man before her, astonished and blinking repeatedly.

"Good evening," said the man, whose name Kathy couldn't remember, as he took a seat on the rackety chair before her desk and then held out his hand. "My name is Albus Dumbledore."

"Er…" Kathy shook her head, as if clearing it of cobwebs and then shook the man's hand briefly, before she frowned and started searching for something on her desk, as she muttered, "Did we have an appointment? I don't recall…"

"I sent you a letter requesting an appointment and you very kindly invited me here today."

Kathy blinked at him. "Did I?" But then she sighed and stopped perusing her cluttered, swamped desk. "I apologize, I don't know where I have my head nowadays, I've been very busy-"

"No need to apologize, I understand," said the man cordially, waving a hand dismissively. "I'm here, as I told you in my letter, to discuss Tom Riddle's and... Harry's arrangements for their future."

At that, Kathy snapped her head up to pierce him with her eyes. She frowned deeply. If she had received a letter about them, she would certainly remember.

"I'm a teacher," continued the man –Mr. Bumble-Dumbyby, or whatever the man's name was– as he placidly eyed her, "at a private boarding school in Scotland. I've come to offer them a place there. Their names have been down for our school since birth-"

"Who registered them?" interrupted Kathy, still frowning as she stared at him, puzzled. "Their parents?"

"Yes," replied the man, nodding. "Both their parents did."

"Both?" echoed Kathy feebly, as she felt a wave of apprenhension gripping her. Oh, she had known that someday it would come back to bite them in their arses. How would she explain now what Alice and her had done? How to explain that Harry believed himself to be Tom Riddle's fraternal twin?

"Yes, of course." The man was now frowning at her, as well.

Kathy cleared her throat, squirmed uncomfortably on her seat, and then said, "You know then, who their parents were?"

Mr. Bumbles looked troubled now, and he gazed at her over the top of his half-moon glasses. "Don't you?"

Kathy eyed him uneasily, but then her eyes narrowed. The man hadn't answered her – he wasn't giving her names. There was something very strange about the whole matter.

Albus stared at her. The haggard-looking woman before him looked jittery and nervous, as well as wary and suspicious. And she seemed to be very concerned about something in particular.

He wasn't the type of wizard who liked to cast spells on muggles - who by nature had no defense against it. And indeed, he always refrained from doing so when possible. But current circumstances seemed to require it.

Albus covertly drew his wand out from his velvet trouser's pocket, and gave it a flick, as he intensely bore his eyes into hers, deciding to find out the reason for her evident worry.

Instantly, his non-verbal Legilimency spell allowed him to see the memory floating at the forefront of the woman's mind – apparently, it was the very root of her apprehension. And without further ado, he plunged his own awareness into it.

The recollection unraveled before his eyes, the sounds and voices echoing in his ears.

There was Mrs. Cole, looking many years younger, and the woman who had opened the door – Alice Jones, it seemed her name was. They were being yelled at by an old woman… then the cry of a baby… the rushing of their feet… the baby on the doorstep…

Oh, he was intrigued now. A blanket depicting flying snitches. The baby's clothes with 'Harry' embroidered and an image of a moving lion cub on it. With those clothes, there was no doubt – the boy called Harry was no muggleborn. He had to be a halfblood, since pureblood parents wouldn't have abandoned him unless he was a squib. And that, he evidently wasn't, or Hogwarts' ledger wouldn't have had him in its list.

And then the nursery, with the other baby…. Ah, he understood now. The decision both women had taken. Alice Jones' reasons for it. Hmmm.

Albus pulled out of Mrs. Cole's mind and frowned musingly, pondering about what to do.

Finally, he quickly decided to let matters lay as they were – he could understand and sympathize with Miss Jones' feelings about the matter. And he would see for himself what had come out of it.

Now eager to see the boys, he picked up a piece of blank paper from the woman's desktop and tapped it with his wand's tip, before he handed it over. "Here. I believe this will make everything clear."

When Mrs. Cole's eyes gazed down at the piece of paper, Albus flicked his wand in her direction, as he said in a deep, clear tone of voice, "The Riddles registered their twin sons at my school before the accident which took their lives."

A small memory adjustment – a necessary lie, Albus deemed, since if not the Matron could decide to tell the boys the truth, believing that Albus would. And he rather not have Mrs. Cole believe that his school knew who Harry's parents had been, either. She certainly was a sharp and inquisitive woman, inconveniently so - with the spell he had cast, she would have no reason to suspect anything or dig into it.

Moreover, if he ever had reason to think that, for the boys' sake, they should be aware that they weren't twins or related, then it was something he could easily undo and fix back.

Yet, the mystery of the identity of Harry's parents, and the decision the caregivers had made regarding how to name him, didn't explain why the boy had no surname in Hogwarts' ledger. Albus felt extremely puzzled.

The woman's eyes glazed over, and then she nodded. "Everything seems perfectly in order." Then her eyes focused back, and she blinked, before she set the blank paper on her desk and offered amiably, "May I offer you a glass of gin?"

Dumbledore hesitated. He was eager to see the boys as soon as possible, since he had little time left before he had to prepare matters for the Order's meeting.

However, seeing the longing glance the woman was shooting at her bottle of gin, he nodded and smiled politely. "Thank you. I would enjoy one."

Mrs. Cole poured both of them a generous measure, and Albus took the opportunity to ask with mild interest, "What can you tell me about the boys?"

"About the Riddle twins?"

Kathy abruptly frowned at herself; there was something not right with what she had just said. But in the next second, she shook off the strange feeling, and drained her glass.

She pondered about what to tell him regarding the brothers. Perhaps how they had been born, yet… Her forehead crinkled. She clearly remembered about the weird-looking woman and how she had given birth to Tom, but after that, she didn't remember about Harry coming out.

Kathy wearily sighed. She had to be more tired than she had thought, and clearly getting old, if she couldn't quite remember that last part. She poured herself another glass of gin and chucked it down in one gulp.

Two pink spots appeared on her cheeks, and she rubbed her forehead pensively.

She could tell him about the many strange things that had happened: about the couple who had wanted to adopt Harry and then had ran out of the orphanage, shrieking with fear; or how Billy Stubb's bunny had died, and she had seen the piece of hair ribbon hanging from the rafters and known that Tom had somehow killed the bunny, and certainly not by 'accidentally stepping on it'; or how she had asphyxiated to the point of fainting and Tom had been standing there, watching, and she knew the boy had been causing it because they had been arguing about something... something she couldn't quite recall; or how Mrs. Sharpe's window had exploded for no apparent reason when Tom was being punished, with Harry in the room; or perhaps how they had found Mrs. Sharpe lying with her neck broken, and Kathy had her own dark suspicions about the matter because Tom hadn't been in the playroom with the rest of them when it had happened; or simply how all the children, except Harry, were scared of Tom and wouldn't go near him.

She could tell him that, and more, but Harry didn't deserve to lose the chance of going to the man's school just because his twin had turned out bad. And Alice would never forgive her if Tom lost the opportunity, anyway.

Her friend had always wanted the best education possible for Tom, in particular. And the man had said his school was a private one, right? It surely had to be much better than the public school in their neighborhood.

Moreover, Mr. Bunderbore had said it was a boarding school, so that meant the boys would only be coming back for their holidays and she could dearly use a respite from having Tom in her orphanage all year round.

So, she finally settled for telling him about the most innocuous of happenings, by comparison.

"Um, well," she began, "some things have happened… nothing serious… some years ago, the children's birthday presents started disappearing, if you know what I mean-"

"One of the boys is a thief?" interjected the man gravely, looking not at all pleased.

"Oh, not Harry, I'm sure!" she blurted out, firmly shaking her head. "And it only happened for a short period of time, then it stopped. And Alice even found her thimble on top of the kitchen's table." Bleary-eyed, she gazed at him and said vehemently, "Harry Riddle is a very good little boy - too energetic, perhaps, but he has a sweet disposition. Tom is… er, a bit odd, but… he's polite."

She felt her cheeks reddening with her lie, more of omission than anything else. And then a sudden hiccup jumped out from her throat. Feeling further uncomfortable under the man's gaze, who was staring at her as if he was about to skewer her with his eyes, she suddenly wanted nothing more but to put an end to the conversation. For some reason, the man now made her feel wary.

Kathy rose to her feet, with surprising steadiness, and prompted quickly, "I suppose you'd like to see them now?"

"Very much," said the man, rising too.

She reached her door and opened it, relieved when she found Alice standing against the opposite wall of the corridor, waiting for them.

"Could you take Mr. Dumberton up to the Riddle twins' room?" Kathy said, wondering why her friend then shot her a quizzical glance, as if she had just said something weird.

"Sure," said Alice, smiling warmly.

Kathy gave her farewells to the man and then locked herself in her office, wanting to finish her work of the day as quickly as possible, since for some reason she felt a sudden headache.

As Albus Dumbledore followed Alice Jones up the stairs, he would use his wand once again that evening, to cast on the woman the same spell he had cast on Mrs. Cole.


	8. Part I: Chapter 8

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

**Thanks to all reviewers! Your comments and opinions always motivate me and keep me going! ^^**

Now, there's only one matter I need to clarify; the spell Dumbledore used on Kathy and then Alice, what it did and the consequences of it, for both women.

With the spell, Dumbledore implanted in their minds a fact, what we saw he said out loud with Kathy: "The Riddles registered their twin sons at my school before the accident which took their lives."

He said the Riddles, since it was the one surname he knew had to be correct because it appeared as Tom's surname in Hogwarts' ledger. And before meeting the boys, he had no reason to think that the Riddle name was important. He then believed that Harry was a halfblood of unknown parents, and that Tom could be nothing more than a muggleborn, given his muggle Riddle surname.

But you can see that he employed the Riddles, as if referring to Riddle Sr. and his wife. It's because he doesn't know about Merope Gaunt, and even less suspects that Kathy could know about her (and Kathy doesn't know her name, anyway). But this is obviously Dumbledore's mistake.

In this fic, because he was so curious about Harry's lack of surname in Hogwarts' ledger, he visited the orphanage some time before than he did in canon. And because of that, after meeting the Minister, he already had many things to prepare for the Order meeting.

Thus, he didn't have much time and didn't linger in Kathy's office to ask her a load of question as he did in canon. So, he missed the story of Merope Gaunt. Although, because of Harry, we saw that Kathy wouldn't have told him, anyway, just as she only revealed the thieving thing.

Regardless, you can see that with what he said, Dumbledore was referring to the Riddle couple, both of Tom's parents, thinking Kathy didn't know anything about either of them. So he made up that they had died in an accident, because it was the simplest and most easy thing anyone could believe.

But, unknown to him, Kathy does have the memory of Merope Gaunt giving birth to Tom. So she knows that Tom's mother didn't die in any accident. Dumbledore was unwittingly saved because for her, the statement of 'the Riddles died in an accident', can only refer to Riddle the father and the man's side of the family, which she knows nothing about. Even this doesn't perfectly fit. Her mind adapted to the facts implanted as best as it could.

That's why the spell didn't erase her memory of Merope Gaunt, but only made her feel certain that -since Harry and Tom being twins is now an incontrovertible factual truth in her mind- she simply doesn't remember Harry's birth after Tom's, because the memory is vague due to the passage of time.

On the other hand, one memory that was affected, and part of it erased, was that of when Tom asphyxiated her. Because then they had been arguing about not telling Harry the truth, about not being twins. She remembers the asphyxiation, and that they were arguing, but she doesn't remember why.

Lastly, the memory which was completely wiped out from her mind was that of the day in which they discovered Harry on the doorstep and decided to tell him Tom was his twin.

This memory is the only one Dumbledore thought would be affected by the spell. He isn't aware of what happened with the other memories, since he had no reason to even know about their existence.

This is one more case, in this fic, in which we can see that the wizard isn't infallible or omniscient. I don't like my Dumbledores to be perfect, and very much love him as I pictured him in canon, with many failings, much depth of feeling, weighted down with regrets and with the burden of the responsibilities he puts on his shoulders, which not all of them should be his, but he takes them on nonetheless, because he tries to use his power and brilliancy to help the wizarding world. In the end, he's a man with a core of steel, who has to sacrifice much of himself and of others, but who ultimately means good, no matter the many mistakes he makes and no matter if we think he's seriously misguided sometimes.

Now, as for Alice, her memories were affected just the same way as Kathy's, though probably more profoundly because Alice certainly must have thought about the whole 'twins lie' much more frequently than Kathy.

Regardless, you must see that Dumbledore implanted those facts, and let them spread and act in their minds, modifying accordingly, not because he likes to butt his nose into everything and loves to manipulate people.

No, he did it out of necessity, because if he left Kathy believing that Hogwarts knew who Harry's parents had been –as he assured her when he had to tell the lie that both boys' parents had enrolled them in the school- then he knew that Kathy, as sharp and inquisitive as she is, would have looked into it, more for Harry's sake than anything else.

So Dumbledore, to preserve the secrecy of Hogwarts and even the wizarding world, had no choice. And also, since he sympathized and understood Alice's decision, he decided that the lie about the boys being twins was a good thing, for the boys themselves.

All of this will have further consequences, of course… *winks*

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 8**

* * *

Tom sat on his bed, with an open book lying on his lap as he watched how Harry played with Nagini on the boy's own bed.

Both of them had already packed their things for the trip, in the following morning, to Southend-on-Sea. And in about an hour or so, one of the caregivers would start their rounds through the children's bedrooms to turn off the knob of their oil lamps and order them to go to sleep.

Meanwhile, Tom was mussing about what he would do the following day. During their last trip to the seaside, he had discovered a cave. Well, both Harry and he had.

It had been a cloudy, chilly day, too cold for swimming, so Mr. Hutchins had been playing with Harry and his stupid friends, making sand castles of all things, while the older boys, with Dennis on the lead, had been torturing a stranded starfish with a stick.

Mrs. Cole and Alice had been sitting several feet away from everyone, on the large table cloth they always brought to the beach; Kathy looking stern and grave as she carried a whispered conversation with Alice, while Alice hadn't seemed to be paying her much notice. The stupid woman had been gazing at Hutchins, with that idiotic, love-struck mooncalf expression she always wore when she watched Hutchins playing with the children. He pitied the man, truly.

Out of all the adults, he could say that Hutchins was the only one he respected to some degree. He tolerated him, at least, since Hutchins seemed to be the only one who had half a brain.

The man read a lot and liked the same sort of books that Tom did; non-fiction texts about serious matters, about politics or science, or history and the sort. And Tom somewhat enjoyed his discussions with him.

Nevertheless, he couldn't fully respect him due to the obvious love and affection Hutchins felt for the annoying, silly Alice Jones, and due to the man's beliefs regarding an ideal society where all were equal – such a ridiculously nonsensical and idiotic wish.

Regardless, the point was that that day, Tom had been bored out of his mind. He had miscalculated and he had finished, before expected, the book he had brought to the trip. Suddenly feeling the urge to stretch out his legs, he had stood up and started walking away.

He had smirked when, as he had predicted, Harry had snapped his head up to observe him. Moments later, Harry had run towards him, walking along his side, as he said excitedly, "Are we going treasure hunting?"

Tom hadn't lowered himself to reply to Harry's stupid question and wishful thinking, but he had been satisfied with the proof that, no matter what Harry was doing at the time, he always had half of his attention riveted on Tom.

Indeed, Harry had always rebelled against him in the matter of his right to spend time with his silly little friends. But at least, the boy always dropped them and came to Tom's side if he saw that Tom would be doing something interesting.

Harry may prefer his little friends for playing childish games, but he always chose Tom over them, in the end.

So both of them had meandered along the shoreline, without much hope of finding anything worthwhile. But, when the rest of the people were nothing more than distant black dots to them, Tom had caught sight of something. A few feet away from them, behind a bunch of towering boulders, he had seen a large, wide crack, with waves crashing against it, and with a hissing wind echoing from its depths.

Out of boredom more than curiosity, Tom had started climbing the slippery boulders with some difficulty. Behind him, Harry had seemed very excited, yapping constantly about what he imagined they would find on the other side.

It had been nothing magnificent, just the entrance to a cave. Nonetheless, they had gone inside, the wind howling through the cavernous, dripping rock walls. It had been dark, with only dim daylight spearing through the crack that served as the entrance.

"Look, I'm Frankenstein!" had cried out Harry, making stupid roaring sounds as he moved his arms and hands, forming a grotesque shadow on the cave's walls.

Mary Shelley's 'Frankenstein' had been, then, the latest story Hutchins had been reading to the boys of the orphanage. Tom hadn't paid much attention to it, just as he hadn't been interested in the tales from The Illiad or The Odyssey, simply because any fiction was a waste of time in his opinion, and those of the fantasy genre were the worst of them all – ridiculous, fanciful and childish.

Though he had been viciously amused when, for weeks after, many of the children had had nightmares, crying and screaming in the middle of the night, waking up the whole orphanage. Due to it, Alice's reprimanding yells at Hutchins, in the following days, had been vastly entertaining.

The only one who hadn't had nightmares, besides Tom of course, had been Harry. Not that it had surprised Tom; his brother did seem to like his monsters, even gross, murdering ones like Frankenstein's. Harry thought It was fascinating.

"Dr. Frankenstein's monster," Tom had corrected absent-mindedly, as he observed the shadows, which, in truth, did look scary and ominous. The whole cave -though they hadn't had time to explore it into its depths- had a spine-chilling and eerie quality to it.

His idea about how to use the cave had been born then, even more so when Harry had suddenly paled and stopped flailing his arms around in that stupid manner.

"What is it?" Tom had snapped, when he saw that Harry had been staring at him, with a look akin to fear.

"Nothin'," his brother had mumbled, looking wary and uncomfortable. "It's just that – for a moment- I thought I saw… I imagined, it was a sort of flash…" He had trailed off and then finally muttered, "The red eyes."

Tom hadn't needed to ask him what he was referring to. Harry's nightmare about a green light and red eyes had become less frequent during the years, but the boy still had them. And it still annoyed Tom, because it was simply stupid. Though he hadn't missed how Harry had been fixedly staring into his eyes right then, as if what the boy had seen was Tom's eyes being red, like those of the nightmare.

And Tom had smirked at that, having one more proof of how scary and eerie the cave could be since it affected his brother to the point that the boy was imagining such imbecilic things. It would be perfect for his plan.

Thus, at present, Tom was pondering how he would carry it out. He would have to ditch Harry and be careful of not garnering Kathy's attention –the nasty old bat had a very sharp eye. But he already knew who his victims would be and what he would say to them to cajole them into following him into the cave - and what he would do to them once they were inside.

Choosing his victims had been easy. It would be the three who annoyed him the most:

Amy Benson because the thirteen-year-old girl –the prettiest and sweetest in the orphanage! according to everyone- was a pest. Always fluttering her eyelashes at all the boys, simpering and smiling coyly.

He despised her, further, because her interest in Harry had only increased with the years. She was always around his brother, hanging from his arm, giggling and flirting obnoxiously. And Harry was a dunce and didn't shove her away in disgust, as he should.

Billy Stubbs because the boy was older now and seemed to have gained a modicum of self-confidence - and even a backbone. Billy needed a reminder of why he feared Tom, and also, after three years, the boy needed to remember what he couldn't blab about and what would happen to him if he even tried.

All of Harry's friends had forgotten about the 'fantastic' things Harry had done and displayed, long ago during those months when Tom had ignored his little brother. And Harry, just as Tom had ordered him to, had never attempted to do anything like that again.

Nevertheless, that meant that Billy Stubb's memory about what Tom had demonstratively done to Puffy the Bunny had also lost some of its strength. And Tom was more than willing to remind him about it, with full details.

Lastly, Dennis Bishop, because the boy was a bully and still shot Tom nasty, hateful glances but was too much of a coward to do anything to him. Also because the boy would soon be turning eighteen and thus would be leaving the orphanage, and it would be his parting gift to the boy.

Moreover, because Tom didn't like all the attention Harry gave the bully. Ever since Hutchins had taught Harry how to fight, his brother had been planning and vying to find another opportunity in which to fight Dennis without the caregivers noticing or interfering.

Ever since Harry's first victory against a boy much older than him – and Tom hadn't expected Harry to win when the boy was tiny compared to Dennis, though it seemed that technique, practice, and flash-like reflexes had trumped brute strength in that occasion- his brother had more than once ignored him whilst planning how to beat Dennis to a pulp once more. And Tom didn't like to be ignored.

Tom let out a displeased grunt at that thought, and Harry turned around to glance at him, cocking his head to a side when he saw his brother's expression; one that indicated that Tom was up to something - something he wouldn't like.

Harry was about to open his mouth when he caught sight of the book resting on his brother's lap. It was the one Tom had filched from the latest bookshop in which they had carried out their little act, about two months ago during the orphanage's incursion into commercial London. It was about 'Herpetotogy', or something of the sort – in essence, about snakes.

He huffed and turned back to scratch Nagini's scales, making her hiss contentedly. Tom believed that there was something wrong with their friend, that was why his brother had filched that book.

According to Tom, it wasn't normal that Nagini hadn't grown a single inch -neither in length nor width- during the many years they had known her. But Harry was quite happy about that, since he could easily carry her under his shirt, coiled around his forearm.

But then, when some of her scales had turned black or violet, beginning to form some strange pattern along her thin body, Tom had been further flummoxed because he couldn't find out what kind of snake she was. Her 'species' didn't appear in his book, at least not the pattern which her scales now formed.

Furthermore, once, when Harry had gone to the bathroom to brush his teeth and also wash his feet – because Tom wouldn't let him inside his bed if he didn't, the prissy bastard- he had returned to their bedroom to find Tom with a strange expression on his face.

Nagini had been placidly dozing off on Harry's bed, and according to Tom, he had, for a second, seen how her scales had turned grey, camouflaging with the pillow. Something only chameleons and such could do, his brother had said.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't see why his brother frowned because of that. They had 'special abilities', so why would it be so surprising if Nagini could do strange things too?

However, Tom seemed… 'skeptic' – that was the word, the one he had overheard Alice using when she had been arguing with Kathy, because Tom still refused to go to church and Harry wouldn't go either if his brother didn't. Alice had bemoaned that Tom didn't believe in God and had called him a skeptic, but had said that they shouldn't force them to attend church, regardless.

Harry scratched the soft, small scales under Nagini's jaw –her favorite petting place- and then tugged the hem of his pajama top, scowling with annoyance. The pants didn't reach his ankles and his top hung loosely from one of his shoulders, displaying it, and was also too short, showing a bit of his midriff.

Oh, he was proud that he had had a growth spurt, at last, but it had been way after the rest of the boys, and even girls, had already grown taller. And even though he had gained some inches in height, he remained skinny, and Tom was still nearly a full head taller than him.

'A late bloomer', Alice had called him, thinking it was endearing. Harry had glared at her, not finding it amusing, at all. It galled him.

Even the grandmotherly coos of old matrons had started vexing him – as if he was some kind of pretty-faced doll. And the way they pinched his cheeks with sharp fingernails –calling him 'so handsome', and 'sweet' and 'cute'- truly hurt.

Why didn't they do that to Tom as well? His brother was called 'handsome' too, but no old lady dared to pinch Tom in any way or place.

Harry didn't think it was fair, not at all.

It highly miffed him nowadays, though he forced himself to put up with it, because he was aware that his still 'adorable' looks gave him a free rein, allowing him to do many things, unsuspected and unpunished, he otherwise wouldn't be able to.

Suddenly, a knock sounded on their door, and with his eyes growing wide in alarm, Harry instantly yanked his bed sheet over Nagini, as he hissed urgently,  _"Don't move – and keep quiet!"_

He shot Tom a panicky glance, because no one had ever discovered her thus far, but he knew it wouldn't go over well if they did. And they should still have an hour before they were told to turn off their oil lamp!

Alice didn't like snakes; no one seemed to, though Harry had no idea why. It wasn't as if Nagini was dangerous – she did have a vicious streak and liked to torment and play with her food before eating them, but that was hardly cause for concern. She was a snake, after all.

But no, it wasn't even that. The reason he panicked was because Nagini was a willful creature and he wasn't sure she would obey him. Most times he was glad that she didn't – he didn't want to be called 'master' and be treated as such, as she did with Tom. But now, Tom wouldn't have the time to issue his own orders to her.

Indeed, just as Harry fretfully jumped to his feet, hiding with his body where Nagini laid coiled under the bed sheet, their door opened.

As Alice entered their room, he plastered a wide, innocent smile on his face. Though, in the next second, he frowned a bit when he saw her rubbing her forehead, as if it ached.

Though any concern for her evaporated when he caught sight of the man who walked in, right behind her. His green eyes nearly bulged out, round as platters.

"Tom, Harry, you've got a visitor. This is Mr. Dumberdoor-"

"Dumbledore," interrupted the man, warmly smiling, his eyes even seemed to twinkle behind his half-moon glasses as he swept his gaze over them. "Albus Dumbledore." He then turned to Alice as he added very kindly and politely, "I would like to speak with them in private, if it would not be too much of an inconvenience."

"Oh." Alice blinked at the man, and then mumbled, "Yes, of course - certainly."

She looked disappointed, but then shot Harry a smile that looked tense to him, and left the room, closing the door shut behind her.

The man did a strange thing then, he waved his hand at the door – as if he was doing something, but nothing happened. However, he seemed satisfied as he turned around to gaze at them once more.

Harry shot his brother a bewildered glance, seeing that Tom had also stood up, though his brother's shoulders were stiff and tense, and he seemed to be skewering the man with narrowed, dark blue eyes.

"Who are you?" demanded Tom, in that chilly tone of voice he used when he was ordering people around – and which made most cringe as if they had been struck by a blow.

"As I've said, my name is Albus Dumbledore," said the man placidly, not looking at all ruffled by Tom's tone, though by the way he spoke, he seemed to be in a hurry. "I'm a professor at a school in Scotland, called Hogwarts-"

"Professor?" piped in Harry then, shooting his brother a quizzical glance. "That's a teacher, right?"

Tom nodded in response, very briskly and briefly, but didn't peel his eyes away from the man.

His brother didn't say a word, but a fearful suspicion then crept in Harry's mind. The wary way Alice had looked, how tense Tom was now… And he remembered how, so long ago, Tom had warned him that if he kept doing strange things in front of others, someday someone could come from an asylum to take them away.

He hadn't done anything in years -not unless he was in the privacy of their bedroom- but the explosion of Mrs. Sharpe's window three years ago had been his fault. And he had overheard Alice tell Kathy that Jenkins had been going around the neighborhood blaming him and Tom for it.

His heart pumped fast and hard with fear, and Harry quickly reached Tom's side, fisting his small hands, ready to do anything in their defense.

He didn't think he could take down the man before them, but he could land some blows.

If Alice and Kathy were behind this –and it hurt and pained him to even think it, he felt so deeply betrayed- then he would shout and scream, and make them run into the room. And he would put his most pathetic and wounded expression on his face, and he would sob so heart-wrenchingly that he knew he would be able to make them change their minds.

At last, with all the bravery he could muster and ready for battle, he snapped, "You don't look like a teacher." Which was true, since the man seemed to belong to an asylum rather than work in one, given how he was dressed. Nevertheless, he continued sharply, "Are you a doctor – from the asylum?"

The man –Dumbledore, Harry reminded himself- looked surprised at that. He shook his head and said kindly, "I am not from an asylum. I work at a school called Hogwarts and I've come to offer both of you a place there – in your new school, if you would like to come. If you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts."

Mr. Dumbledore stared at them expectantly, though Harry noticed how the man's bespectacled gaze lingered on his scar, as if he was curious and perhaps puzzled about it.

His brother must have noticed too, because Tom clamped a hand on his forearm and pulled him further against his chest, making them take several steps backwards.

Tom was evidently leaving room for the man to sit on his bed, but remained standing. And his grip prevented Harry from doing anything else but stand next to him.

It didn't escape Harry's notice how Tom had angled their bodies, with their calves hitting Harry's bed, thus making sure Mr. Dumbledore wouldn't sit on it, where Nagini lay under the sheets.

"Hogwarts," continued Mr. Dumbledore, once he had placidly seated himself on Tom's bed, seemingly not minding that they were too suspicious of him to do the same, "is a school for people with special abilities -"

"Special abilities?" blurted out Harry, his eyes round, suddenly feeling a sense of exhilaration rushing through him. He snapped his head up to gaze at his brother. "Tom! He knows! He's talking about-"

"Shut up!" snapped Tom at him, looking angered as he shot him a brief glare, before he narrowed his eyes at Mr. Dumbledore once more, adding harshly, "We don't know yet what he's talking about."

Mr. Dumbledore remained silent for a second and then peered at them over the brim of his half-moon spectacles. "I'm talking about magic – what you can both do."

"Magic!" Harry cried out, at the same time that his brother did. Though while Harry had nearly jumped in the air with excitement, Tom had sneered the word out, glaring and scowling at the man seated before them.

"You mean it's magic what we can do?" rambled Harry joyously, waving his hands around. "Like in Alice's fairy tales and all-"

"What can you do?" prompted Mr. Dumbledore, gazing at him gently.

"Oh, many things," chirped Harry happily. "We can move things around, and once I disappeared from one spot and appeared in another – though Tom didn't let me try again. And we can also-"

"You're lying," said Tom then, acidly, cutting short Harry's ramblings as he pierced Mr. Dumbledore with eyes narrowed to slits. "My brother believes you because he's stupid. But I know there's no such thing as magic-"

"How do you explain, then, what your brother and you can do?"

Tom's jaw clenched, but he didn't answer and Mr. Dumbledore gazed at him indulgently, before he said firmly, "I assure you, Magic is very much real, as is the Magical World where wizards, like me and like you, live-"

"Wizards… we're wizards… Truly? Really?" breathed out Harry, peering at the man with wide, hopeful eyes.

Mr. Dumbledore warmly smiled at him, nodding his head.

Harry instantly rounded on his brother, digging an elbow into Tom's ribs, feeling revindicated as he laughed, "See, Tom! And all the times you called me an idiot because I thought that perhaps Alice's tales might be right. And when I told you that there had to be other people like us, and when I said that-"

"That doesn't mean you were right," bit out Tom, shooting him a dark glare, before he transferred it to Mr. Dumbledore. "And I still don't believe it. Where is this 'Magical World', then? We've never seen it, nor a single thing, sign or clue, that-"

"The Magical World is kept hidden from muggles-"

"Muggles?" snapped Tom instantly, demanding an explanation and clearly peeved that the man was using terms he didn't know.

"Non-magical people," said Mr. Dumbledore succinctly.

"Muggles…" repeated Tom under his breath, and Harry shot him a glance at that, due to the tone of voice his brother had used; as if 'muggles' represented a lowly thing, as if Tom felt reassured by the fact that there was a tag for such people, since it proved what his brother had always believed, that they were both –and Tom in particular– superior to the people around them.

Nevertheless, Harry was far too giddy to be bothered with that, and he focused all his attention back to the man, as he rambled eagerly, "And what kind of place is this Magical World? Do you have castles and knights? Dragons and princes, and do people fly with wings, and are there houses made of chocolate, and is there-"

He was interrupted when Mr. Dumbledore chuckled under his long, auburn beard, looking amused, his eyes twinkling warmly as he gazed at him. "We don't have knights nor princes or princesses. We have no monarchy. But we do have enchanted castles – Hogwarts is a good example of one. We do have dragons, cared for and looked after by wizards, in reservations. And wizards and witches are able to fly, but aided, usually with broomsticks." He stroked his beard, and chuckled again. "We don't have houses made of chocolate or candies, but I think it's an excellent idea. I see that one of your caregivers must be a Grimm brothers fan."

"Oh…" breathed out Harry, with an entranced expression on his face, his wildest dreams already coming true by the mere mention that people could fly –and with broomsticks!– and that dragons really existed.

"You can learn about all of this, and much more, if you choose to attend Hogwarts-"

"Of course we do!" piped in Harry instantly, nodding repeatedly and most vehemently, nearly bursting with enthusiasm and elation– he couldn't wait!

When his brother said nothing, he spun around to peer up at him, wondering what was wrong. Tom was still fixedly staring at Mr. Dumbledore, his expression hard and grave.

"You could be making everything up – trying to trick us," said Tom sharply, dislike and suspicion for the man dripping in his every word. "We know what we can do, but we don't know that you're like us. Do something to prove that what you say is true."

Mr. Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "I will, if you are accepting your place at Hogwarts-"

"Prove it first!" commanded Tom with ringing force, like a reverberating whiplash.

Mr. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed minutely, evidently not pleased at the boy's tone of voice, but then his gaze flickered across the room. He seemed to be looking for something, for a particular reason, though Harry couldn't fathom what he was searching for.

There was nothing in the room except their small nightstand with the oil lamp, their two beds against opposing walls, and their old, rackety wardrobe. The man seemed interested in the latter, since his eyes fixed on it, a grave expression growing on his face as if he was about to chide them for something.

The man stood up and pulled a stick of some sort from his pocket, aiming it at the wardrobe, and then, a second later, flames erupted.

Harry cried out in alarm and shock, as he leapt forward to attempt to stop the fire, somehow. "No! All our things!"

However, in the next blink of the eye, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged. Harry stared, and blinked, and then gaped as he spun around to glance at Mr. Dumbledore. He frowned slightly when he saw that the man looked puzzled – the man's eyes once more roving over their bedroom, looking for who-knew-what.

Meanwhile, he saw that his brother was standing there, with a fascinated and greedy expression on his face - he looked almost feverish.

"What's that?" demanded Tom, his eyes gleaming as he pointed at Mr. Dumbledore's stick.

"A wand. Wizards and witches use wands to channel their magic, and thus cast controlled spells-"

"Where can we get them?" interrupted Tom instantly, clearly at present not too interested in explanations.

Mr. Dumbledore peered at him, intently, over the top of his half-moon spectacles. There was no warm smile on his face or twinkle in his eyes, as he said, "If you both accept your place at Hogwarts-"

"We do!" snapped Tom impatiently, glaring at him as if the man was purposely keeping the information regarding where to get wands as some sort of blackmail material to be used against him.

"Then you will address me as 'sir' or 'professor'," continued Mr. Dumbledore as if Tom hadn't interrupted him at all.

Then, Harry felt it; something shifted. His brother and the man stared at each other, for a fleeting moment, as if they were having a fierce battle of wills. Though it didn't surprise him one bit when Tom's whole countenance changed, abruptly.

"Of course, Professor Dumbledore. I apologize," said Tom very politely, looking properly chastised.

Harry swallowed his snort of amusement, as he saw that Mr. Dumbledore believed that Tom was being sincere, just like everyone else who had been duped by his brother when he employed such tactics. Though, perhaps not – the man didn't smile again.

Nevertheless, Mr. Dumbledore didn't seem to hold a grudge, as he then said pleasantly, "You can buy your wands and spellbooks at Diagon Alley."

The man plucked out two leather pouches from his pockets, along with two thick envelopes. Mr. Dumbledore handed all of it over to them, as he went on to explain about Hogwarts' fund for those who needed monetary assistance and about how to get to Diagon Alley. When the man mentioned 'Tom' the bartender, he didn't seem to catch his brother's thinning and twist of the lips.

Harry was tempted to say something about it, to taunt his brother about how he thought 'Tom' was a common name. But he remained silent out of loyalty, and also because another reason his brother despised his own name was because he shared it with Mr. Jenkins – and that was no laughing matter.

Furthermore, Mr. Dumbledore seemed to have other things on his mind, and the man's gaze was starting once more to flicker to his scar.

Harry didn't open his envelope or his leather pouch, neither did Tom. It was clear that they were of the same mind – they would do it when they were alone, to be able to freely discuss the whole affair.

"May I ask how that wound on your forehead was inflicted?"

Harry had expected Mr. Dumbledore's question, given the man's lingering gaze. However, what he didn't expect was that the man would stretch out a hand as he spoke, intending to touch his scar.

Instantly, Harry recoiled away from the fingers, almost violently.

He never allowed anyone to touch it, except Tom of course, who could soothe it for some reason. Even in his earlier memories, when Alice used to touch his scar before he harshly told her not to, the scar had prickled most unpleasantly, badly reacting to her touch.

And just as Harry had taken a step away from the man's hand, it seemed that his brother had been thinking along those lines as well, since Harry abruptly found himself being pulled back against Tom's chest.

His brother wrapped his arms around Harry from behind, nearly crushing him with a sort of possessive protectiveness, as he hissed out furiously, "Don't touch him!"

Mr. Dumbledore's reaching hand hung in mid-air, and a mesh of expressions crossed the man's face for a brief moment, displaying puzzlement and apprehension, Harry thought; as if there was something bad and wrong about his scar, which the man felt but couldn't quite explain to himself.

It was very strange, and Harry didn't like the man's reaction at all.

At first, he had been suspicious and wary of Mr. Dumbledore, but then, when the man had chuckled and gazed at him warmly as he told him about flying on broomsticks, dragons and how houses made of chocolate was a good idea, Harry had started to truly like him, thinking he had found a kindred spirit.

Now, however, he wanted the man gone. Also because his scar was starting to throb painfully, and he could feel that it was due to Tom; it felt like when Tom had punished Dennis and made the boy hurt.

Harry was convinced that Tom was prepared to do the same to Mr. Dumbledore, and the man seemed to sense something of the sort, because he was staring at Tom with a grave expression on his face, as if appraising him and not liking what he found.

"It's just a scar – I've always had it," muttered Harry, gently rubbing his forehead, still within the protective fold of his brother's arms, as he tried to ease the situation and satisfy the man's curiosity so that he would leave.

Mr. Dumbledore dropped his hand and stopped scrutinizing Tom, and some of the tension seemed to dissipate as a calm and placid expression spread on the man's face. He nodded, looking as if he accepted Harry's reply.

"Very well," he said, "I believe everything is settled, then." He shot them a glance over the top of his half-moon spectacles. "If you are certain you don't require my escort to Diagon Alley, for the day you decide to go-"

"We don't," snapped Tom curtly, from the top of Harry's head. "We know our way around London. We don't need your help – we'll find it."

Mr. Dumbledore said nothing and merely nodded once more, giving them a parting bow of the head as he moved towards the door. Harry exhaled with relief – but he did it too soon.

Just then, their friend decided to remind everyone of her existence, that she was still there, and wanted some attention and would have it.

And Harry blamed Tom for it, because she had adopted some of his brother's worse personality traits, one of them being getting irritated when she was ignored by Harry for too long.

From under the bed sheets, coming out as muffled sounds, Nagini started hissing some annoyed and complaining nonsense, and Harry –with his nerves already frayed and being too tired to think straight- reacted automatically.

" _Keep silent!"_

Harry froze the moment he realized what he had done – that he had not only said it, but also hissed it.

He didn't think that this ability of theirs was particularly important and even less, special, but Tom had interrupted him when he had been telling Mr. Dumbledore about the things they could do. And he didn't think it had been an accident. It was clear that Tom hadn't wanted to give the man more information about them than necessary, and this certainly wasn't something the man needed to know, either way.

Feeling as if he had let down his brother, he bit his bottom lip and dared to peer up at Tom, expecting to see him glaring down at him. But Tom wasn't looking at him, and his arms -still wrapped around Harry- hadn't tensed nor were they squashing him painfully as punishment for his slip of the tongue.

Harry realized what was going on when he saw that Tom was staring, with narrowed, scrutinizing eyes, at Mr. Dumbledore, who seemed to have spun around the moment he had heard the hissing.

The man was now piercing Harry with his eyes, with such intensity as Harry had never seen before. Mr. Dumbledore's sky blue eyes were roving over Harry's features, inspecting them, as if looking for some kind of clue.

Then, the man gestured at Harry's bed, where all of them could see a lump moving fretfully under the sheets. "May I?"

"Go ahead," said Tom coolly, still without peeling his eyes from Mr. Dumbledore, as he pulled Harry to a side to give the man space.

Mr. Dumbledore grabbed one end of the bed sheet and pulled it away, carefully and even gently, but that didn't change the fact that it revealed their little friend to his eyes.

" _Can I speak now?"_  hissed Nagini, her tone of voice showing her extreme annoyance with them. She then coiled her tail, using it to prop herself up so that her head rose and she could peer at the man staring back at her.  _"Who's this? The human who's been yapping all this time?"_

She blinked slowly, flickering her forked tongue out.  _"What is he wearing?"_  She sounded as horrified as Harry had felt when he had seen Mr. Dumbledore's velvet, yellow suit. But her interest in the man didn't last long. She flicked her tail, as if dismissing him as being below her notice, and then reared her head back to skewer Harry with her golden eyes, as she bit out accusingly,  _"And why were you ignoring me? I was cold!"_

The damage was already done, so Harry simply sat on his bed, rolling his eyes at her attitude, and then offered his forearm. Nagini didn't waste a second. She slithered up and squirmed and shifted until she was cozily wrapped around his forearm, leaving only her head popping out from under his sleeve.

"You can speak to snakes?"

Harry glanced up at Mr. Dumbledore at that, thinking it was a pretty stupid question, all things considered.

"So can I," decided Tom to inform him. But when Harry glanced at him, he didn't see the superiority or smugness he would have expected at that proclamation; because of course Tom wouldn't want the man to think that Harry could do something that he couldn't.

But since Tom wasn't acting as Harry thought he would, he knew something was going on; something which Tom had noticed and he hadn't. Indeed, Tom hadn't stopped staring at Mr. Dumbledore. So now Harry observed him as well, and he saw that after Tom's declaration, the man looked even more wary and befuddled than before.

"Both of you?" Mr. Dumbledore said, as if he needed to reiterate on the point because it was too impossible to believe.

Harry's opinion about the man's intelligence was dropping fast. They were twins, so if Harry could speak to snakes it wasn't too surprising that Tom could as well! And yet, the man looked gobsmacked.

"Is it normal for a wizard to be able to speak to snakes?" asked Tom coolly, his manner nonchalant.

"It is… unusual," said Mr. Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, his expression quickly having changed to a calm one, "but not unheard of."

Tom's eyes narrowed, and Harry didn't miss either that by the sound of it, and due to the man's pause, there was much that Mr. Dumbledore wasn't telling them about, regarding the matter.

Mr. Dumbledore's eyes once more moved curiously over Harry's face, and then also over Tom's. He seemed to want to linger there with them for some more time, but then he looked hurried once again.

He shot them parting nods, as he intoned pleasantly, "Good-bye, Tom, Harry. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

And with that, the man left and closed the door behind him.

Harry let out an exhalation of breath, carding his fingers through his hair as he glanced up at his brother. "What do think  _that_  was all about?"

Tom wore a pensive expression on his face as he sat beside Harry. "He didn't like it, that we could speak to snakes." Harry nodded, since he had felt the same, though his brother continued, now with a gleam of relish in his dark blue eyes, "He fears it."

Harry shot him a frown. He hadn't noticed anything that would imply that much. Mr. Dumbledore had been uneasy- but fearful? Though he wasn't surprised by his brother's reaction if it was true. Of course Tom would revel in the notion that Mr. Dumbledore -a full-grown wizard who thus had to have more special abilities than they did- was scared of him.

"Why would he fear it?" piped in Harry, his frown deepening.

Tom shot him a smug smirk. "That's something we'll have to figure out, won't we?"

"Right." Harry rolled his eyes; he should have seen that one coming.

Then he stood up and grabbed Tom's envelope and leather pouch, since he already had his in his hands. He took one step forward, to the very center of the small space between their beds, and then used the tip of his toes to wrangle with the loose floorboard.

The rectangular piece of wood came off and Harry crouched down to look at the secret hiding place where they kept all their 'treasures' – all the things they had filched from stores, throughout the years.

It had been Harry who, long ago, had complained that they couldn't keep all the stuff in their wardrobe. Because every time he had to pull out a shirt, Tom's countless stolen books came tumbling out.

So one day Harry had chosen the floorboard that creaked the loudest when he stepped on it. And for a whole week, he had stomped and jumped on it, until one edge chipped and he was able to yank it off.

The dusty space under it wasn't too deep, but it was large, horizontally. He only had to stick in his arm, up to his elbow, and he could reach all the things they had stuffed in there.

Of all the things they had filched from stores for Harry, not much was left except a motorcar toy and a model of an airplane of the Great War – Harry's most cherished possessions. This was simply because other than that, and some story books, Harry usually made Tom filch food, candy or chocolate for him, while he acted his part.

And thus, the space was mostly occupied by Tom's innumerable books – his brother only wanted that from stores. Even Tom's once cherished cardboard box was still there, though the boy hadn't opened it in ages and Harry knew that his brother didn't value its contents anymore, not since he had made Tom give back Alice's thimble.

As Harry stuck their envelopes and leather pouches inside, he said idly, "We can open them tomorrow. We don't have time now - soon someone will come to check if we're asleep."

Much of his excitement, caused by Mr. Dumbledore's disclosure about magic and its world, had significantly dimmed after the strange things that the man had done – Dumbledore's reaction to his scar and about the whole speaking-with-snakes ability.

Oh, Harry was still a bit dazed and giddy, but he was wary too.

He turned around as he put the floorboard back in place, just to see Tom nodding at him in agreement.

As he stood up again, a mighty yawn escaped from Harry's mouth, and he didn't give Tom a chance to fight him.

Tom was still seated on Harry's bed, they were both in their pajamas, and Nagini was already dozing off, curled around his forearm. Thus, Harry shoved his brother unto the mattress –making Tom let out a startled grunt- and he quickly plopped himself down by his brother's side, as he found the bed sheet Mr. Dumbledore had thrown to a side, yanking it up to cover them.

"We'll sleep in my bed tonight," he mumbled sleepily, as he snuggled up to Tom's warm body, very much like Nagini always did with him. His brother could be a very cozy, fluffy pillow when he let it happen.

Tom grumbled about something under his breath, but he didn't protest any further at the use Harry was making of him. The taller boy simply stretched out a hand towards the nightstand, to turn off the oil lamp, and then allowed Harry to happily wrap himself around Tom as he pleased.

Nevertheless, Harry could still see his brother's face under the dim moonlight that speared through their thin, frayed curtains. Tom didn't look as if he would be falling asleep anytime soon – he had that expression on his face which told Harry that he had many things on his mind he was musing about.

Indeed, his brother looked conflicted, and Harry had an inkling about why. Sometimes, Harry didn't understand Tom at all, not his motives or reasons. Other times, like then, he could read his brother like an open book.

"I was right and you're not happy about it," remarked Harry, a bit of a taunting tone in his voice, as he tilted his head up –which rested on Tom's chest- to peer at him. He even shot his brother one of those smug smirks Tom so liked to use on him.

Tom merely graced him with an annoyed scowl before he went back to stare at the ceiling.

Undaunted, Harry continued, now trying to soothe his brother's ruffled feathers, "But you know, it's not a bad thing that there are others like us. It doesn't mean we're less special – that's what you don't like, right? That we're no longer unique?"

His brother grunted as a mode of response – Tom clearly wasn't in a mood for much chatter.

"But once, long ago when we discussed the possibility," added Harry softly, "you said that there was one positive thing if there were others like us – that we could learn from them more about our special abilities. Well, you were also right, then. You see?"

Tom scoffed, and for a moment Harry was disappointed, thinking that would be the only thing he would get from him.

However, his brother cleared his throat and then said superiorly, a tone of voice that some times irritated Harry but which now felt comforting simply because it was pure Tom, "Of course I was right. We'll go to this Hogwarts school and see what it has to offer. If I think-"

"If  _we_  think," corrected Harry pointedly, shooting him a dark glare.

Tom scoffed once again, this time sounding snide and dismissive. But then he smirked and mussed Harry's hair, as he said placidly, "Of course, little brother. If  _we_  think that what they have to teach us is useful and worthwhile, then we'll stay. We'll learn as much as we can and then make our own way in the world."

Annoyed, Harry swatted his brother's fingers away from his hair. His brother always mocked him for having wild, unruly hair, but then Tom always enjoyed messing it up even more.

When he stopped battling against his brother's fingers, he asked in a deceptive, mild tone of voice, "Then our plan of escaping and going to America when we turned fifteen…?"

"Postponed," said Tom curtly, leveling at Harry a hard gaze, as if he was readying himself for a fight.

But his brother had nothing to fear; he had replied exactly what Harry had wanted to hear.

He shot Tom a wide grin, and chirped loftily, "Good. And by the way, tomorrow we won't be going to Southend-on-Sea. We'll stay put, and when everyone's gone, we'll slip away from the orphanage. We'll go to Diagon Alley – I can't wait to see what this 'magical world' is like."

Much to his surprise, Tom did put up a fight regarding that. It made Harry very suspicious. Tom was the one person who didn't find much enjoyment in their trips to the country or seaside, and now he was arguing against missing it.

But in the end, Harry won, just as he knew he would because he had ways in which to make Tom end up doing whatever he wanted. It never failed.

He cajoled and whined and peered up at him with wide, hurt, teary eyes, and all together made such a nuisance of himself that Tom had no choice but to relent, because his brother was well aware that Harry could easily and effortlessly nag him during the whole night and not let him sleep a wink.

It was simply a matter of who, out of the two of them, could be more stubborn and bothersome. And Harry always came on top, in both aspects.

And so, Harry fell asleep, hiding a small, smug smirk against his brother's chest, his thin arms wrapped around him as if Tom was his very own cuddly teddy bear.

* * *

Nearly one hour before, Albus Dumbledore had left St. Jerome's Orphanage, his mind swirling with countless, puzzling thoughts.

After seeing Mrs. Cole and before meeting the boys, he had simply thought that Harry had to be a halfblood and Tom a muggleborn.

Even if Horace had been of the opinion that 'Marvolo' had to be a wizarding name, Albus hadn't given it much importance. It wouldn't be the first time muggles came up with a strange name that sounded like the ones used in the wizarding world.

Moreover, the name 'Marvolo' didn't ring any bells. He had never been acquainted or heard of a wizard called such, and it wasn't one of the many names that certain wizarding families liked to bestow on their children, as per tradition of their lines.

However, after seeing the boys, Albus was now certain of a couple of things and was in the dark about many other.

Regarding their personalities, he could only find fault with Tom's, which left much to be desired. Even the boy's possessiveness over Harry had made him inwardly raise an eyebrow. However, there had also been protectiveness, and thus, he couldn't find fault with Alice Jones' decision of making them believe they were twins.

Indeed, he shuddered to think how a boy like Tom would have turned out if he hadn't had someone as a trusted and constant companion -as Harry seemed to be- in a setting such as the orphanage. Hence, for now, he believed that his decision to protect them from the truth, regarding their lack of relation to each other, had been the right one.

On another note, Albus Dumbledore had many extraordinary magical abilities, many of which he kept a secret. One of them was his uncanny sensitivity and perception of the magic around him and within wizards.

From the start, as soon as he had been in the boys' presence, he had felt it. Tom Riddle's magic was dark by nature. If left unchecked and unguided, the boy would naturally feel akin to and inclined to the Dark Arts, and very possibly delve into them.

It was something, of course, that he couldn't let happen, for the boy's own sake. So many had lost and ruined themselves due to the Dark Arts. And the teachers at Hogwarts had the responsibility of saving their pupils from such fate.

Nonetheless, that Tom Riddle had had at least one parent from a dark magical line was now obvious.

Then, there was Harry, whose magic had felt light, but which had a taint of darkness within it. It was that taint which could make the boy lean towards the Dark Arts. The boy was in danger due to it, just like Tom Riddle.

When Albus had seen the boy's scar, he had suspected it was the cause for it.

The scar had instantly caught his attention – it had looked fresh, as if it had just then been inflicted and as if it would never heal properly. It even looked as it could split open and bleed again at any moment. And the feeling it had given him…

It was for a reason that Albus had attempted to touch it without asking for permission first; not because he wanted to be inconsiderate, but because he had needed to test it.

And then, when his fingers had been but an inch away from the scar, he had felt it most potently – a tendril of dark magic, lashing out. It had been strong, intense, as if it had a mind of its own, and as if it had been reacting to Albus' own powerful light magic, deeming him a threat.

Never had he encountered such a thing.

Oh, there were several dark curses that could have left such a scar, and even left it with a lingering buzz of dark magic – but not that powerful. And certainly not with dark magic that seemed alive.

Moreover, the fact alone that the boy had been cursed was already cause for concern. From what Harry had said, it must have been when the boy had been very young, perhaps even a baby, since the boy couldn't recall how or when he had gotten the scar. And the boy clearly didn't know he had been cursed at all.

Then there was the matter that the boys were parselmouths. One of them alone being such would have startled and puzzled him. The two of them, when he knew they weren't twins… well, it was mystery of such magnitude that Albus felt completely out of his depth.

He wasn't an expert regarding the parselmouth trait, but he had a pretty good notion regarding it, from historical records he had once perused out of sheer curiosity. Nowadays, it was not simply uncommon, it was unique.

The magical ability had originated in some few pureblood lines in India, from which only a couple of descendants remained and none of them with the trait. It was a magical trait that was hard to pass down in a bloodline, usually too weak to manifest itself.

In Europe, the only case of parselmouth ability had been Salazar Slytherin, and his descendants through his bastard son. In that case, for some inexplicable reason which was still undiscovered, the trait had bred true and strong in all descendants.

And yet, by all accounts, the bloodline had died out several centuries ago. Thus was the mystery of how two boys, who were not brothers, could both be parselmouths in such day and age.

It was clear to him that, firstly, the boys could be distantly related to each other. And secondly, that perhaps he would have to look into the only possible origin of their ability – that of the last descendants of Salazar Slytherin; to see, as it was widely disbelieved, if some had survived to present day.

However, even if he added the mystery of Harry's lack of surname in Hogwarts' ledger, to that of the dark magic in the boy's scar and to that of both boys' parselmouth ability, they were still just boys.

They were children who needed to be guided gently, and not unfavorably conditioned and affected by his own wariness. Simply because of what he had discovered about them, as much as it was worrisome, he didn't think ill of them.

It was hardly their fault, and Albus Dumbledore was not a prejudiced wizard, either.

Nevertheless, he was a prudent one.

He would watch them closely during their years at Hogwarts, and be there for them, to guide and help them if solicited and welcomed.

No matter what kind of blood a wizard was born with, in the end, it was a matter of choice whether a wizard turned to the Dark Arts or not. Choice and will could always trump inherited nature.

If he had reason to be concerned about the boys and the choices they made, then he would fully delve into the matter of Harry's scar and the origin of the boys' parselmouth ability.

That decided, with several more things to keep tabs on -just as he kept tabs on many other people, like Maximilian Malfoy, but only acted and interfered if deemed necessary- Albus focused his mind on the Order meeting that would commence in a few minutes.

And with his thoughts thus occupied, as he stood on the muggle street and turned to quickly cast a spell on the orphanage, he didn't notice the eyes that had been observing him.


	9. Part I: Chapter 9

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**Author's Note:**

Hello everyone, I'm finally back! Thanks for all reviews and your patience, I do appreciate it.

I'll start by answering questions and clearing doubts regarding the fic, and then I'll make some comments regarding this chapter.

1\. There's a good point brought up by one reviewer; What happened with the letter for Harry?

Well, just like I was too lazy and didn't think it was necessary to write what Albus did to Alice, regarding the spell he cast on her – the same one he used on Kathy- I didn't bother either to write what Albus must have done to Harry's letter. But since, when Albus followed Alice up the stairs to reach the Riddle's room, we can imagine he cast the spell on her, we can also imagine that he tapped his wand on the pocket containing the letters so that the Riddle surname was added after Harry's name, since by then he had already made the decision of perpetuating the lie about the boys being twins. He couldn't have done this before then because he still hadn't spoken to Kathy and thus made that choice.

2\. Another important point made by a different reviewer; Why didn't Dumbledore recognize Harry as a Potter by looking at him?

Well, I think it's pretty simple. Even if we assume that Harry is a carbon copy of James Potter with only Lily's eyes – which I'm not making it so in this fic – I think it would be quite astounding if Dumbledore had thought Harry was a Potter. Firstly because if Dumbledore has seen anyone, he has seen Harry's paternal grandparents, and given the timeline, both of them are young and unmarried. Thus, Dumbledore would have to recognize in Harry features from a young wizard –Harry's granddad- and a young witch –Harry's grandmother- who aren't married or possibly even a couple, and who certainly cannot look, either of them, identical to Harry.

If anything, Harry must have features from the 4 of his grandparents, maternal and paternal, and Dumbledore certainly doesn't know Lily's muggle parents.

For instance, I don't think I look anything alike any of my grandparents. Perhaps I have the nose of one, the chin of the other, the eyebrows of the third and such, but if someone just knew one or two of my grandparents and then looked at me, they certainly wouldn't guess I was their granddaughter without knowing beforehand. So that's the logic that went through my mind when I didn't make Dumbledore recognize Harry.

3\. Charlemagne McLaggen threathened Dumbledore about telling the public about Albus' past liason with Grindelwald because -even though McLaggen thinks there's no proof that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord- it would still be incriminating for Dumbledore because Dumbledore is giving speeches in the Wizengamot saying that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord. So if McLaggen comes out with the story of Albus and Gellert being together when they were young, while Dumbledore is out there saying that Gellert is a Dark Lord, then of course this would stain Dumbledore's reputation and the validity of his claims.

4\. On another note, what we see regarding the happenings before WWII we see it through Alice's eyes, and sometimes through Mr. Hutchins and Tom. So of course it's not accurate; it's their opinion and feelings about what's happening. You can't expect Alice to know about what the politicians know or think about the matter, or what other civilians believe, either. There were many who thought that the Austrian annexation had no validity, and we can see this when Robert Hutchins gives Alice his opinion about it. And Alice saw this in the newspapers as well. Nevertheless, she took it at face value, because she is naïve sometimes, but mostly because she wants to believe that everything will go well and that no bad things are happening. And I think there must have been many people like her, back then. From what I've read, no one really believed that another war would start; everyone was still recovering from the consequences of the Great War and the Depression that followed. And after all, the public at large was kept ignorant for a long time. It was only during the Nuremberg trials of 1945 when everything finally came out into the open.

5\. Oh, and Tom was born on December 31, 1926, (what Harry believes to be his birthday as well), taken from HP Lexicon. They are starting Hogwarts in 1938 - according to Lexicon timeline- and that's the current present year in the fic. They are turning 11 in New Years. Harry was born on July 31,1980, following canon, and he was thrown into the past when he was one year and three months old, in October 31, 1981, the night the Potters were killed. So Harry is 3 months older than Tom – wouldn't Harry love to know that he was actually the 'older brother'! Lol.

**Note** :  **This chapter is for Elelith, Happy belated Birthday! And thank you for always motivating me to write another chapter for this fic – I hope you enjoy it!**

This chapter has no Tom/Harry interaction, it's basically loads of information so I hope you are in a patient mood. But everything is important, and in the next chapter there will be quite a bit more of the same thing, because Gellert and Konrad had been very busy in the last three years and even after reading this chapter we won't know the full extent of it. Thus, the rest will come in the following chapter.

That said, I'm sorry I haven't updated in such a long time. Several months ago I finished my thesis and started working, and let me tell you, I miss my student life! I barely have any spare time and when I do I either sleep or go out with friends, so I haven't had any time to write. But now I'm on my holidays, two weeks of it, so I'm taking the opportunity of writing again for this fic. Hopefully, I'll have the next chapter ready in a week or less.

**Enjoy and let me know what you think!**

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 9**

* * *

The moment Albus Dumbledore disapparated from the muggle street, the blue eyes which had been observing him blinked once more, from a brickwall between a butcher shop and a dilapidated muggle home across the street from St. Jerome's Orphanage. In the next second, the small expanse of wall rippled as a body unmerged from it.

Konrad Von Krauss took a step forward onto the asphalt, his own muscles aching and his skin unpleasantly prickling as he peeled himself out of the bricks. Finally, he stood whole and unharmed, flicking his wand at himself to cast a Disillusioning Charm.

Now invisible to all eyes, he waited a moment as a motorcar rolled past him and then he crossed the street. Standing before the orphanage, he raised a hand and chanted a spell. The magical ward cast by Dumbledore minutes before, appeared before his eyes, vibrating and thrumming. With another muttered spell and an intricate weaving of his wand's tip, Konrad made a small adjustment to the ward which, per Ministry instruction, had to be cast on the homes of muggleborns so that any use of underage magic would be detected. Of course, with his unperceivable modification to the ward, he ascertained that he would be linked to the ward and not the English Ministry of Magic.

Indeed, it was imperative that when the time came in which the boys would have no choice but to break magical laws in order to ensure their own welfare and survival, it would be he who would be alerted and not the Ministry's Improper Use of Magic Office.

Once he completed this task, Konrad carefully stood before the orphanage's front door and trailed a hand over the wooden frame, making sure that the spell which had given him notice about a wizard crossing the threshold was still working. That the greatly vaunted Albus Dumbledore hadn't detected it, with all the rumours there were regarding the man's uncanny magical sensitivity, seemed quite telling to him. There was no doubt that Dumbledore had been in a hurry, but more importantly, it was clear that the wizard had had no reason to suspect that others might be interested in the Riddle 'brothers'.

Konrad himself didn't know all the particulars of why his Lord considered the boys to be important for his plans. Indeed, in the three years he had been spying on them, he still didn't know much.

Oh, he knew the boys were parselmouths; it was the first thing he had discovered, and quite easily too, given that they kept a pet snake in their bedroom. And yet, when he had reported back that most astonishing information to the Dark Lord, Grindelwald hadn't been surprised at all but rather pleased and satisfied, as if that alone proved something vital to him.

Moreover, Konrad knew the little there was to know about the boys' origins; twice he had abducted the caregiver who seemed to be most attached to them.

It had been on two separate occasions that, when the muggle woman by the name of Alice Jones had gone about grocery shopping, he had taken the opportunity to grab her and apparate her into an empty warehouse. Before giving her the chance to scream and attempt to fight back, he had rendered her useless with a Petrificus Totalus and he had delved into her mind, legilimizing every tidbit of information and duplicating every memory she had regarding the boys, sending the recollections back to Grindelwald in small flasks, as per the wizard's instructions. He had taken extra care of obliviating her after he was done, as well as taking her back to the same spot from which he had taken her.

It was also due to what he had seen in her mind that he had been able to establish an 'indirect link to the boys', as the Dark Lord had commanded him to do.

Indeed, one of his missions in England had been to create a muggle persona for himself with enough social standing and resourcefulness as to be able to influence muggle politics in England as well as to form a connection between his muggle identity and the orphanage.

It had been fairly simple to find a muggle 'Lord', as muggle decaying nobility fancied to call themselves, and to pose as the old man's long lost son.

Lord Arthur Ashcroft had been a recluse for many years, living in his country estate with a few servants, ever since his eighteen-year-old son had been reported as 'missing in action, presumed dead' by the British Army during the last year of the Great War. That the boy had died and his mangled corpse had lain, unrecognizable, in some ditch or trench in the Western Front, there was no doubt.

It was for that reason and due to Lord Ashcroft's precarious health, his wealth and his previous useful social connections before shying away from society due to his grief, that Konrad had chosen him.

For a whole month, during his first year in England, he had slipped into the old man's manor and bedroom, working on the muggle's mind as the man slept, creating new memories which supplanted the old. And thus, the man's son, Alistair Ashcroft, had been reborn.

According to the story Konrad had spun in the muggle's mind, by the end of the Great War, the man's eighteen-year-old son had been convalescing in a French army hospital, like so many other British soldiers. After recovering, 'Alistair Ashcroft', traumatized after his experience in the war, wishing to start anew, away from anything that would make him remember the brutality of battle, had written to his father from France, informing him of his decision to travel to America and settle there. Soon after, he fell in love and married a woman from a wealthy family from Massachusetts, as would be expected from someone of Alistair Ashcroft's social standing. Twenty years later, when knowing about his father's ill health, Alistair decided to settle back in England, bringing his wife along with him, to help his dear father and be with him during the old man's remaining few years of life.

Of course, Konrad had been careful to support this tale with years-worth of letters he had created and forged with Alistair's signature, which he had copied from missives the boy had so long ago sent to his father from boarding school. And having seen the many pictures of a young Alistair that Lord Ashcroft kept in his room, it had been fairly simple for Konrad to cast a glamour on his face, looking as Alistair could have possibly looked like, if he had lived to be in his early forties.

The wife had been easily attained as well. One trip to Whitechapel district in London, brimming with filthy, destitute muggle prostitutes, and Konrad had chosen one of them, paid her a couple of pounds, cleaned her up and bought her trunk loads of pretty clothes.

It was thus, with a richly clothed and beautifully groomed whore, clinging from his arm whilst being under his Imperius Curse, that a glamoured Konrad had appeared on the doorstep of Lord Ashcroft's country estate, three years ago. The invalid, doddering, old muggle had received them with open arms and teary eyes, nonsensically blabbering with joy.

Without the need of much persuasion, the muggle Lord had given the reins of his estate to 'Alistair', and Konrad had been quick to assign to himself and his 'wife' the entirety of the east wing of the manor, forbidding servants to enter with the claim that his wife, in her grief after a long succession of stillbirths and miscarriages, preferred solitude and seclusion since she had become a fervently religious woman who did little else but pray and read the Bible.

Indeed, Konrad had little use for her. He kept the whore sitting day and night in a dark room, saliva dribbling from her mouth as she unseeingly stared at a wall, while the house-elf he had brought from one of his manors in Germany spoon-fed her and bathed her from time to time.

After three years under the constant influence of the Imperius Curse, the muggle woman was little more than an empty shell, a puppet whose strings he could easily pull to make her dance to his tune; to make her say the shallow platitudes expected from a woman of her station and to make her behave in public as a 'lady' should, the few times a year in which he made her make an appearance by his side in some muggle social gathering or other.

Mostly, he preferred to make his incursions into the circles of muggle high-society alone, always taking care that his picture would not be taken by any muggle journalist, that Alistair Ashcroft's name wouldn't be mentioned in the papers, and, with Notice-Me-Not spells and the like, that no one would pay much attention to him or remember him later.

He only ensured that his inflammatory words regarding the dangers of German rearmament, and the need to put a stop to it before it was too late, were clearly remembered. In those occasions when he posed as Alistair Ashcroft and expressed such vehement and war-mongering opinions, during soirees and social gatherings in which the muggle politicians, the nobility, and the rich mingled, his target audience had been one man in particular: Sir Winston Churchill.

At first, Konrad had not been pleased that the Dark Lord had chosen that muggle in particular. Indeed, in his second report during his first year in England, he had expressed his serious doubts.

" _He's an uncouth, ill-mannered, bad-tempered muggle_ ," Konrad had said firmly, trying to make his Lord see some reason, his lips pressing into a thin, hard line, expressing his dissatisfaction and deep dislike. " _He's not the kind of man who the people would choose for a Prime Minister, My Lord. The British muggles fancy themselves to be civilized and expect the same in their politicians, and Churchill is not that. But there are several muggles in high posts that would do_ -"

Gellert had shot him that crooked smile of his, the wizard's hawk-like eyes pinning him where he stood, as he interrupted him and said loftily, " _And yet, from what you have told me, the current Prime Minister and those close to him prefer peace at all costs. In your own opinion, they'll attempt to negotiate with the Nazis, and we cannot have that_." He had slapped a hand on Konrad's shoulder, as he added sharply, " _There cannot be peace! Britain must be involved in the war, it's imperative for my plans. You know this._ "

" _Yes, My Lord, but Churchill barely has any clout, at present. He's had a disastrous political career, he's never been loyal to any party, jumping from one to the other for years, and it ended with his own Conservative Party excluding him. He had to flee in shame to his country estate_ ," Konrad had argued in brisk German. " _And after several years living in ignominy and largely ignored, he's trying to resurface in the political sphere. But his attempts are unsuccessful, that is my point. Recently, he has even made another political mistake when the muggle King died and his firstborn and successor married an American woman who had divorced twice! And Churchill publicly supported such horrendous impropriety-_ "

" _And Churchill lost in his gamble of which of the King's sons to support when the firstborn abdicated and passed the crown to his brother, yes_ ," interrupted Grindelwald, his jaded smile widening as his hazel eyes gleamed. " _It is due to that reason and everything you've reported to me regarding the man, that he's the best muggle for the job. He has made many mistakes, he's desperate to clear his name and bring it back from oblivion. He's only loyal to himself, his ambitions and British imperialist interests._ "

He had held up a hand when Konrad had tried to speak again, and added sharply, " _He's loud-mouthed and pugnacious, and he has finally started making speeches warning the public about Germany's rise_." His smile curved into a twisted smirk as he continued, now calmly, " _As you know, from the start, I've made sure that there were leaks in the Nazi government. I've ensured that British spies were handed certain information. And you've told me that a muggle in the British Foreign Office has passed down some of it to Churchill. Use your muggle identity and your social connections as a Lord's son to acquire a post in the Foreign Office and use that muggle. Make sure that more secret information reaches Churchill's hands. Let him know about the German factories making guns and artillery, building tanks and airplane parts. Let him know that Hitler is creating the Luftwaffe to rival Britain's Royal Air Force. Let him know about the U-boats and warships being built_."

He had grabbed Konrad's chin, skewering him with his gaze as he continued in an unyielding, commanding tone of voice, " _Follow him to every gathering he attends, fill his mind with ideas, make him believe he can use the conflict in Europe to rise to power. Make him be a rising star again, and the only voice that cries out for war. And when I make Hitler break every promise and terms of peace with the current British government, England's muggles will only be able to turn to Churchill for leadership. And at long last, we will have our Muggle War."_

And Konrad had done precisely that, all of it.

At present, after nearly three years of hard work in the muggle world, he could now say that he had left everything perfectly staged so that, soon, the muggle politician chosen by the Dark Lord would be elected as the next Prime Minister of England.

Furthermore, he had also created a useful connection between his Alistair Ashcroft persona and St. Jerome's Orphanage. In truth, he hadn't quite expected the way in which he would achieve it. Indeed, it had taken him by surprise and he considered it a fortunate coincidence when he had seen in Alice Jones' mind that the woman had a younger sister who worked as a maid for the Carringtons.

As Alistair Ashcroft, he had already been acquainted with Lord and Lady Carrington from the frequent dinner parties the muggle couple liked to throw for their peers, and which he had attended when Churchill was one of their guests.

In every of their gatherings his skin had crawled with disgust, as always happened when he was forced to endure muggle company, adding to that his suffering of having to listen to squashed-faced Lady Carrington as she mindlessly blabbered about her jewels and gowns, and to the porky and obese Lord Carrington, who had little conversation except hunting, the weather, and his precious dogs.

Nevertheless, after his second Legilimency of Alice Jones and having discovered with it about the muggle's sister, he had started paying attention to the maids who served dinner in the Carrington's home. And then he had seen her, Sarah Jones; a pretty little thing, really, quite to his taste if she wasn't a despicable muggle. But more importantly, he had noticed how Lord Carrington's gaze followed the maid as she went around serving the dishes of food.

After that evening's dinner, when the ladies withdrew to the main parlor and the men to the library to share cigars and brandy, it hadn't taken very long for Lord Carrington to slip away. It had been evident to Konrad that the muggle lacked subtlety and any form of restraint.

Indeed, when 'Alistair Ashcroft' had followed him into the kitchens, he had found all servants gone from the place except for a sobbing Sarah Jones pressed against the pantry, who for all her tears, remained still and silent, allowing her employer's lecherous hands to reach every inch of her skin under her shirt, certainly only because she couldn't afford to lose her job.

'Alistair' had loudly cleared his throat, pretending he had been looking for a bottle of cognac, and a flustered and red-faced Lord Carrington had mumbled something or other and fled the scene, leaving a wretchedly sobbing maid behind. Of course, Konrad had seized the chance and had tenderly consoled her, forcing himself to touch her in order to gently pat her back, whispering comforting words to her. And thus, Alistair Ashcroft's 'friendship' with the girl had begun.

During the whole last year he had been a frequent visitor of the Carringtons, several more times interrupting the Lord's unwanted sexual harassment of Sarah Jones, and every time offering to her a shoulder in which to cry on. Even when Alistair Jones stopped receiving invitations, he nonetheless kept visiting, knowing that the Carringtons wouldn't dare to forbid him entrance out of fear that he would reveal to others what he had seen. There was no doubt in his mind that the Lady of the house knew exactly what her husband did, and preferred to turn a blind eye to it.

During all his visits, he took the time to find Sarah Jones and have quiet conversations with her, telling her what maids like her wished to hear; praising her beauty, her intelligence, her fortitude, and so on. Soon, when he was certain that the foolish girl had become quite enamored with him, he had candidly disclosed his own tribulations; his wife's inability to bear him a child, his deep yearning for a family of his own, and the sorrow and grief that he felt due to it.

It had taken seed just as he had planned. Two weeks later, in his next visit, a joyful and bubbly Sarah Jones had confided that she had a sister who worked in an orphanage, and she had told him her 'brilliant' solution to his problem; how it would be very charitable and altruistic of him to adopt an orphan. She had written to her sister several times, telling her 'everything' about him, and what an excellent father he would make, how a kind-hearted and gentle man like him, and with his wealth and social station, could give any child a very happy life.

And so, a grateful Alistair Ashcroft had promised to discuss the possibility with his wife, and that someday they might visit St. Jerome's Orphanage - in which they would be welcomed with open arms by her sister, Sarah Jones had assured him.

Konrad had been careful, of course, of not giving her any time frame. After all, his muggle persona's connection with the orphanage might not be used. His Lord had told him that 'Alistair Ashcroft' would only have to adopt the Riddle boys if Grindelwald deemed at some point that it was necessary or useful for the boys to live in Germany, under his thumb and influence.

Thus, he had completed two of his missions in England. The third, contacting the spy in Hogwarts, giving him new instructions and making sure that the spy wouldn't waver in his commitments, had been simple and easy as well. The fourth mission, to gain more supporters to Grindelwald's cause in members of dark pureblood families and even some light ones, hadn't proved to much of a challenge either, since he had been Maximillian Malfoy's guest in many social events and such occasions had provided him ample opportunities to persuade English wizards to their side.

Nevertheless, his fifth and last mission had proven to be more complicated than he had expected, but he had done all he could and now could only wait for a resolution. Indeed, his negotiations with Maximillian Malfoy regarding the future marriage between the wizard's grandson and Konrad's own daughter had been tricky. Malfoy was a ruthless, cunning, and demanding negotiator, and it seemed that the man had previously arranged a marriage with a girl of Black House and his grandson.

Talking to other purebloods, Konrad had been able to glean the reason why Malfoy was so reticent to break that agreement between Malfoy and Black Houses; it seemed the Blacks owed the Malfoys a bride, due to some troubles between the Houses several generations ago.

Nevertheless, just as the Dark Lord had said, Konrad's daughter and what she would inherit from him and her mother, was a prize too tempting to ignore, thus Konrad was confident that Maximillian Malfoy and the wizard's greed would serve his purpose.

Furthermore, Malfoy had been very satisfied with the gifts Konrad had bestowed upon him to sweeten the deal; unique ancient tomes, precious magical artifacts, and even gems and stones to add to the Malfoy collection. And the old man had also expressed his satisfaction regarding Kasimira's looks, the many times Konrad had brought portraits of her, when he commissioned a painter to go to Durmstrang and take her likeness. The Malfoys were known to have very high standards regarding the beauty their brides should posses.

On the other hand, Konrad himself was content with the boy who would become his daughter's husband, fusing the Malfoy and Von Krauss lines and merging their fortunes and estates.

Maximilliam Malfoy's grandson, Abraxas, was everything he could hope for in a scion of a dark pureblood House as the Malfoy's. Though, he had discovered, through rumours, about the one fault the boy had. But Konrad was a Traditional Purist, and not a True Purist, as the faction called itself, so what Maximillian Malfoy saw as a grave and humiliating besmirch in the boy's blood and a shame to his line, Konrad saw it as a boon.

However, the boy himself had never seemed particularly thrilled about the negotations; young Abraxas' indifference towards Kasimira's portraits being obvious and the boy's dislike of having a wife two years his elder, palpable. Regardless, the boy would do what his grandfather commanded, as was his duty, Konrad had no doubt about it.

It was thus that Konrad allowed himself to feel a modicum of contentment and relief, as he finished modifying the ward on the orphanage. At last, he had completed all his missions in that horrid little country, after three unbearable years. As he prepared himself to apparate away, he hoped he would never have to set foot on British soil again.

* * *

Minutes later, Konrad's boots clicked on Nurmengard's polished stone floors as he approached his Lord's study, to give his last report regarding how matters stood in England.

Nearly reaching his destiny, he paused momentarily when he saw a uniformed young man standing guard not in front of Grindelwald's door but next to the one across the hall. The Dark Lord was visiting Anacleto Armonios' quarters, was he?

Konrad's lips flattened into a severe line. His opinion regarding the wizard was a low one, indeed – the man was a quack, as far as he was concerned. But before he could inwardly vent his displeasure, he paused to peruse the young man in front of him.

He had heard about Julian Ehrlichmann. The boy's father, after all, had a high position in the hierarchy of Grindelwald's Haupte Kommandanten. And, most importantly, Egon Ehrlichmann and those who followed his lead had always been Konrad's rivals, both of their factions fighting for power within the Dark Lord's ranks. The Ehrlichmanns and the Von Krausses had always been opponents, since time immemorial.

However, what concerned him the most was the boy's appearance. It was just as his allies within the Dark Lord's ranks had told him about. Julian looked like a young version of Albus Dumbledore; guileless, gentle, sky blue eyes, short curls of red hair which lent the boy an endearing look, soft features in a boyish and handsome face, and a noble air to his bearing.

During the three years in which Konrad had been away from Germany, he had taken particular care of visiting his allies whenever he briefly returned back to give his reports to the Dark Lord. And in those visits, his allies had warned him that Egon Ehrlichmann had shoved his son under Grindelwald's nose, clearly aware of the Dark Lord's tastes and preference in lovers and evidently wishing to gain more influence with the Dark Lord through his son.

That the boy had chosen to attend and graduate from Beauxbatons instead of Durmstrang, and that Egon doted on his son to such degree as to allow that, was already a negative mark, in Konrad's opinion. Even if Julian had graduated with top marks and had won the European Dueling Championship in his seventh year, quite an astounding feat.

That after Grindelwald took notice of the boy, the young wizard swiftly climbed through the ranks, becoming the Dark Lord's protégé and pupil, to the point that Julian was now Gellert's personal guard, was twice as worrisome.

Konrad wouldn't have cared if the Dark Lord had taken the boy as a plaything, but having him as both a lover and a trusted, close follower was another matter altogether. Mixing business with pleasure, given the high stakes, was not something Konrad viewed favorably, even less when Grindelwald's infatuation with the boy had already lasted for three years and didn't seem to be waning - that alone was already cause for concern. Gellert was one to get bored with his lovers very quickly.

All the while, as Konrad had been closely scrutinizing the boy with narrowed eyes as his mind flooded with troubled thoughts, Julian Ehrlichmann had bore it with a benevolent and patient expression on his face, not beeping a word.

This didn't escape Konrad's notice. Nevertheless, regardless of the boy's correct and polite manners towards a wizard who was his superior in rank, Konrad was in no particular mood to return the respect.

" _Stand aside, boy_ ," was Konrad's curt command.

" _The Dark Lord asked not to be disturbed_ ," Julian said softly, earnest regret flashing in his sky blue eyes, seemingly for having to bar entrance to one such as Konrad.

" _He'll want to see me_ ," retorted Konrad briskly, skewering the young man with an icy stare.

" _As you wish,"_  said the boy pleasantly, bowing low as he took a step away from the door he had been guarding.

Konrad pushed the boy out of his thoughts as he yanked the door open without bothering to knock. As he closed the door behind him, he swiftly took in the scene before him.

Gellert Grindelwald was comfortably sprawled on a winged armchair, nodding his head while a rail-thin, old wizard with a bald head and a scraggly grey beard was importantly giving a discourse, gesturing with his arms as if he was giving a speech before an enraptured audience.

"…  _so as you see, all my research during these years_ ," was saying Anacleto Armonios, his thick Spanish accent mangling and butchering the German language to such degree that it made Konrad wince, while the wizard was too absorbed in his own words and brilliancy as to notice the new arrival, " _has led me to believe that it is quite possible, theoretically…"_

" _Konrad! Impeccable timing!"_  welcomed him Gellert, springing to his feet with a bounce on his steps as he grabbed Konrad by the arm and led him further inside the room, looking like a giddy schoolboy who had had the most amazing day in his life.

Konrad was shot a sour look by Anacleto and he repaid it with a disdainful glance. Konrad had made it no secret that he thought him to be the most untrustworthy wizard in existence. Ever since Gellert had recruited the man, giving him fortune, and even quarters and a study in Nurmenrgard itself in which to conduct his research and experiments, Konrad had had his misgivings.

Oh, the old wizard was brilliant, of that there was no doubt. The Spanish wizard had, after all, been the inventor of the time-turner three decades ago. But it was what the wizard had done after that, which didn't set well with Konrad.

Ironically enough, it had all started with Gellert's own great-aunt, the renowned historian Bathilda Bagshot, who back then had been obsessed with finding the ancient, lost island of Atlantis – a much vaunted prize sought after by everyone of her profession.

After years of work and of speculation regarding the reason for the disappearance of the island and the magical community which had live on it in ancient times – whether it was due to indigenous clans of dragons waging a war between themselves, or the eruption of a volcano, or even some power-hungry wizard who had caused the catastrophe– Bagshot found incontrovertible historical clues regarding the island's location.

According to her discoveries, the island had to be in the depths of the ocean, right in the middle of the Gibraltar Strait, between the two Pillars of Hercules which had stood in ancient times, one in the tip of Gibraltar, the other in the North African peak of Ceuta.

Bagshot firmly believed that the island of Atlantis had been formed from the stretch of land that had once connected both regions. And thus, all the countries that had historical claims on those territories entered the political quarrel to see who would win the rights to explore the discovery.

The contenders had been Britain, since Gibraltar was part of their empire, Morrocco that had once had Ceuta, and even Argelia and Portugal. But Spain had won the argument in the end, being Ceuta currently theirs and Gibraltar having historically belonged to them before it was seized by Britain.

It was so that the task of proving Bagshot's theories had fallen upon Spanish 'Guardadores de Secretos', the Keepers of Secrets – the 'Ohne-Zunge', or tongue-less, as they were called in Germany, or Unspeakables, as they were called in English. And back then, the Head of that Department had been Anacleto Armonios, who had led the expedition into the depths of the Atlantic Ocean.

They had found Atlantis, with its beautiful structures relatively well preserved and a large community of merpeople having made it their home.

What none had expected was that one young Unspeakable, during his exploration of the submerged island, would feel curiosity towards a large array of iridescent clams which spread all along the one side of the island the merfolk didn't go near.

Presumably, the young wizard had the idea that he would perhaps find pearls inside the clams, to thus gift to his girlfriend. But the boy found no simple pearls, but small, golden, shiny orbs, which, at his touch, dissolved and exploded into golden dust.

The records about what the young wizard experienced then, when the dust encompassed him, were never made public. What is known, is that the Spanish Unspeakables reached an agreement with the merfolk, exchanging a continual supply of the clams for trinkets and cheap baubles merpeople fancied.

What they extracted from the clams was rigorously studied and experimented with for many years, and finally termed as the 'Sands of Time'. And it was Anacleto Armonios, and the team he lead, who invented the spelled device that could contain the Sands and control its magical properties.

Thus, the time-turner was created in the Spanish Unspeakable Department. And such invention was made public when Anacleto became greedy, somehow managing to break his Unspeakable Vow of Secrecy, and fleeing from Spain, with all time-turners and the instructions for their construction. He spent a whole year creating more and selling them to the wizarding public at large, making a vast fortune.

Thankfully, Anacleto wasn't able to break the 24-hour constraint of the time-turner, but the damage was already done, with countless wizards and witches using their time-turners to change a day of their lives, wreaking havoc.

When what was happening became evident, the time-turner was banned as illegal, all wizarding governments seized them from the hands of their citizens, and locked them up in the bowels of their Ministries, only allowing their use under authorized circumstances and after rigorously studying the petitions.

And so, Anacleto Armonios spent the following two decades of his life in hiding, fleeing from Spanish Aurors and having no choice but to spend all his ill-gotten fortune to ensure his own survival.

Until, Gellert Grindelwald snatched him.

Konrad only knew that, just a month after he had been sent to England, the Dark Lord had offered Anacleto terms the man couldn't afford to reject; protection from Aurors, an impenetrable, secret hiding place – Nurmengard Tower– and galleons enough to satisfy his greed.

Thus, Anacleto had been there for nearly three years, and still, Konrad had no idea what the Dark Lord had ordered him to do.

" _Start over, Anacleto. I want Konrad to hear this._ "

Gellert's command yanked Konrad from his musings, and he finally took a seat on a plushy armchair, his lips thinning in distaste at the state of the office.

Anacleto's study was a mess, swamped with columns of books littering the floor, rolls of parchments on every visible table top, whizzing, thrumming artifacts which functionality was impossible to discern, puffing potions in cauldrons, and flasks with coiling glass tubes with multi-colored bubbling liquids. And most conspicuously, a tall hourglass tower occupied one corner, with golden dust nearly filling it entirely.

Anacleto simpered and sycophantically smiled at the Dark Lord, then shot a poisonous look at Konrad, and finally lifted up his wand and gestured with it as he spoke, as if pompously conducting the orchestra of his own voice.

" _This is no longer a hypothesis, but a theory, which I have no doubt would be the Law of Time-Traveling if only I was able to prove it. But_ ," he said, as he swished his wand upwards as if conferring more solidity to his own words, " _if we altogether assume that there is no twenty-four hour constriction to the magical properties of a time-turner_  –" Anacleto then shot Gellert a guarded look "-  _and you must understand, my Lord, that this limitation is one which I see no way of eluding. However_ ," he quickly added as he saw the Dark Lord's impatient expression, " _for the sake of argument and to understand my theory, let us assume there is no temporal limitation to the use of a time-turner. Then, I can easily explain how a time-travel of any number of years into the past would work and what the consequences would be_."

The former Unspeakable made a dramatic pause and peered at them, as if to lend a sense of excitement to his speech, and then continued in his snotty voice, " _Then the start would be our current timeline, which I call the primal line._ " With his wand, Anacleto drew in the air a long, green line, its beginning and end diffused in the air, no doubt trying to convey that it was infinite. " _And let us assume that this is point zero_ ," he said as he poked his wand's tip in the middle of the green line, creating a white circle on it, " _when we are right now and assuming it is the instant in which the time-traveler uses the time-turner to go back in time. His time-travelling creates the origin of the alteration of the space-time continuum_."

 

" _Listen carefully to all this_ ," whispered Gellert, leaning towards Konrad as he shot him a wide, crooked smirk.

Konrad faintly nodded, with the little he had heard already having a sick coil in his stomach and a daunting, ominous feeling.

" _And thus_ ," continued Anacleto, " _with his time travelling into the past, he appears in point 'minus one' –_ " a black circle appeared on the green line, far before the white one of point zero " _– and due to his mere presence in the past, he creates an alternate time-line, the secondary, as I call it._ "

Now a red line grew from the green line, starting from the point 'minus one' and shooting outwards in an angle, increasingly becoming more distant from the first line.

" _As you see, the longer the time-traveler remains in the past, the greater the differences between the primal and secondary timelines. Meaning_ ," said Anacleto, piercing them with a grave stare, " _that the ripple effects of his actions in the past grow exponentially the longer he remains there, making the two lines diverge at increasingly greater distances from each other. Thus, the secondary line would be a parallel universe much different from the original one. But_ -" he rose an admonishing finger "–  _this is not stable._ "

Anacleto paused once again to pierce them with his gaze, and started talking in a lecturing tone, as if explaining convoluted matters to dim-witted children, as he smiled at them, " _Let me give you an example which will demonstrate what I mean. What happens when a wizard uses a twenty-four hour time-turner? The secondary line is created, but since it's only twenty-four hours into the past, it's infinitesimal in the grand scheme of infinite time_."

He swished his wand and the red line shortened itself until it was barely one inch long. " _The directional change, the differences between the two lines, doesn't have time to be too great. And what happens when there is a mutation or aberration in nature? If it's a one-time occurrence, it gets swallowed, it changes things very little_."

As the wizard said those words, the green primal line curved slightly to trace the short bit of the red line, and then shot out in the same direction it had originally. " _What was changed with the time-travelling becomes what always happened, and there is no alternate universe created – no instability. This is the case of a twenty-four hour time-traveling, and the very reason why no one has been able to breach that temporal limitation_."

" _Now, in the case of a time-travelling of years, it represents infinite changes_  –" Anacleto flicked his wand and the red line was a long one once more "–  _aberrations, which were not meant to occur. And by nature, Time will try to correct itself, thus._ "

The green line started to become wobbly, curves erupting from it and touching the red line, the red line also becoming distorted as the lines started to become closer together.

" _You see, there would be a pull between the timelines, so that they become one and the same, because prolonged instability is not possible. Either they join, or both disappear – that's the danger of prolonged time-travel into the past. There can be no two parallel universes co-existing, it's an impossibility. Either both are destroyed or_  –"

" _Exactly_ ," interjected Konrad loudly, having increasingly paled with each word the old wizard had spoken, now no longer able to contain himself, his face showing an expression of absolute horror. " _That's why even a three-year-old child knows that Time must never be tampered with! It's you and your invention which are an aberration_ -"

" _Hush, Konrad,"_  snapped Gellert, leveling at him a harsh glance.

Anacleto, for his part, shot Konrad a smug and superior look, as he intoned, " _As I was saying, either both universes are destroyed or a way is found so that only the second universe prevails, taking the place of the original, assuming this second universe is the desired one which has been purposely created with the time-traveling. And I have found the way. This was part of the task appointed to me by the Dark Lord_ –" he politely bowed low in Grindelwald's direction "-  _and I have succeeded_."

" _Continue, Anacleto, I am indeed pleased with you,"_  said Gellert placidly, as he cozily stretched on his seat.

Konrad shot him a sharp glance, but evidently he was the only sane wizard present, and the only one who had any respect for the forces of nature and magic. The whole affair was madness, and he could see no outcome but utter catastrophe.

Meanwhile, Anacleto pointedly ignored him and nodded at the Dark Lord, as he swished his wand. Now the lines formed their original configuration. A white circle in the middle of the long green line, the point zero, and much before it a black circle, the point 'minus one' in the past, and from it, the red line shooting outwards.

" _As we see, the parallel universes resemble each other during the first years – there is not much distance between the two lines in the beginning. No matter what the time-traveller does in the past, he changes things but not to such degree as to make the universes completely dissimilar. The differences between the universes becomes much greater throughout the years; the red line growing further apart from the green one_."

The lines started twisting and becoming distorted once again, and the old wizard said, " _Now, we know this situation is not stable. Thus, to correct this and prevent the disappearance of both timelines altogether, we need to make the infinite aberrations in the time-space continuum, the red line itself, a fixture_."

Anacleto shot them a glance, and asked rhetorically, " _How do a series of mutations become part of nature itself? When are they accepted and become stable? The answer is simple; when those aberrations are successful. This means, when the red line is 'successful', when it becomes a fixture. And for that, an anchor is needed – an anchor between the green and red lines, their common denominator, that which cannot be changed in essence, no matter how dissimilar the two universes become_."

The old wizard widely smiled with supreme smugness. " _I found it. It's the time-traveler himself._ "

He magnanimously swished his wand, making the red line curve until its end connected with the white circle on the green line, with point zero.

" _The time-traveler is immutable at the origin and the end of the curve_ ," he said as he touched one circle first and then the other. Then he traced with his finger the curve of the red line. " _The curve which represents all the changes he created when he was in the past. The red line has now a beginning in point 'minus one' in the past, its curvature, and then its end in point zero. It's anchored, it's stable, that universe will be the one which prevails, because the time-traveler who created it lived for years in it, and the only point he experiences in the original timeline, in the green line, is point zero – the moment he travelled to the past. Only that point of the green line will remain_."

With a flick of his wand, the section of the green line which continued past the point zero disappeared, and then the green section which went from one circle to the other started vanishing.

" _The red line becomes all what remains, it takes the place in the space-time continuum of the original timeline, because the time-traveler exists in the red line and now in the point zero - which no longer only pertains to the original timeline, but now is part of the red line_."

With the green line gone, all what remained was the curved red line, stretching from one point to the other. " _After only this timeline remains, it will curve again from the point zero and shoot out into the future, in the same direction it followed at first_."

The wizard flicked his wand, making the red line curve out from point zero and then it continued straight, in the same direction it had been angled away from the vanished green line.

" _See? The red line follows the same direction as when I first drew it, before being affected by instability. Indeed, the curves it makes to reach the point zero and then continue away from it, are really infinitesimal curves, which don't affect the direction of the timeline. Meaning, the universe created by the time-traveler, in the past, naturally progresses into the future, with all the consequences and changes brought by the time-traveler's presence and actions in the past. Thus, we are left with a universe vastly different from the original one as more time passes_."

Anacleto paused, gravelly staring at them. " _Now, this is extremely important_." With the tip of his wand he traced the red line's first curve, which went from point minus one to point zero. " _This section of the timeline, which is already different from the primal one but connects with it in point zero, will be unstable since it represents all the years the time-traveler is in the past. During this time, both the green and red lines will exist and there won't be such monumental differences between them. The greater differences start when the red line shoots out into the future departing from point zero. Thus, while the time-traveler is in the past, both universes will coexist, and we'll only be out of the danger zone, there will only be stability and balance, and we can assure that only the secondary universe remains, when the red line reaches point zero – when it becomes fixed and the green line thus disappears, that original timeline –the memories and experiences it represents, the births that might not exist in the new timeline- forgotten by everyone as if it had never happened, since truly, it doesn't and now never did_."

He took an intake of breath, and then continued sternly, " _What does this mean in practice?_ " He pointed at point zero. " _For the red line to pass through here, and thus became stable, it means, as I said before, that the anchor had to be unchanged in essence. The anchor is the time-traveller, hence, he must never change anything in the past which would result in him not being born, or in not making the time-travel in point zero_."

Anacleto pierced them with his gaze, as he added grudgingly, as if it cost him great effort to admit it, " _He must have the same parents, the same ancestors, and just as importantly, the same soul – this latter is already impossible, since nothing can control souls nor is it understood how the mechanics work when a soul is infused in a life the moment it's conceived. Whether a soul is created at that moment, or whether a rebirth of a soul is what happens, is unknown, and thus, uncontrollable. Also, the time-traveler cannot continue existing after he is born, since if not there would be two of them and that cannot be sustained for long and it might bring as a consequence the destruction of the universes_."

The former Unspeakable sighed. " _And those are precisely the snags_." He gestured widely at the red line floating in mid air. " _All of this is possible and correct in theory, but in practice, it simply cannot be done_."

Gellert suddenly let out a chortle, and then clapped cheerfully as he rose from his seat. " _I congratulate you, Anacleto, you have indeed made a most ground-breaking discovery."_

The thin, old wizard stared at him with perplexity, then he squirmed and said hesitantly, " _Perhaps I didn't explain matters clearly, it is not possib_ -"

" _I do believe it is_ ," retorted Gellert contently, shooting him a crooked grin. " _All of those problems are easily solved. The time-traveler cannot live for long after his baby self is born, and not only that, he must die even before then, because the time-traveler possesses the soul that should be in the baby when it's conceived, since if not, he would be a different person altogether_." His twisted grin widened as he added, " _Thus, the time-traveler must simply be killed beforehand._ "

Anacleto blinked at him repeatedly, before he mumbled choppily, " _Yes, but there's still the matter of the soul being infused in the conceived life-_ "

" _Which can be done with a magical artifact I know of -since it does exactly that, control and manipulate souls- and which I will have in my possession so that it can be used for that very purpose_ ," interrupted Gellert placidly. When he saw Anacleto open his mouth, he brought up a hand, and continued pleasantly, " _Regarding the ancestors and parents, why, it's simple. There must be a third party who is aware of the time-travelling and who will watch and influence matters to make sure that the time-traveler's parents and grandparents are precisely who they were. That third party is, of course, me_."

The former Unspeakable stared at him uncomprehendingly, and Gellert let out a crow of laughter as he patted the man on the back. " _Don't you see, Anacleto? The perfect time-traveler is one who doesn't know he's a time-traveler at all_." A crooked smirk stretched on his handsome face. " _A baby, Anacleto._ " He then gestured at the floating red line and its points. " _Point zero will be after the time-traveler is killed and over one year later after the baby self is born_."

" _But then_ ," said Anacleto slowly, a perturbed frown on his wrinkled face, " _he will merely be a tool, to change the timeline and then be sacrificed and killed_." He shot the Dark Lord a piercing glance. " _You understand that if the time-traveler is killed, that is the end of his life. The baby will go through the same, he will not have a different life_."

" _I understand that perfectly_ ," said Gellert, his hawk-like eyes gleaming with satisfaction.

The old Unspeakable shifted uneasily on his feet, and finally muttered with an apprehensive tone of voice, " _There's still the matter of the time-turner. I have not been able to break the twenty-four hour limit_ -"

Gellert scoffed and then shook his head disparagingly. Shooting the old wizard a crooked smirk, he flicked his wand and conjured a pile of beach sand on the palm of his hand. In the next instant, he flung it at Anacleto.

The old man wheezed and sputtered, taken aback, while Gellert intoned, " _It's as simple as that, my friend._ "

Looking like a drowned cat, Anacleto started dusting off the sand from his frilly robes, before he stared at the Dark Lord and grumbled, " _If you mean to imply that the Sands of Time should be directly applied to the subject who is to time-travel_ …"

He trailed off and shook his head with dismay and trepidation, flecks of sand flying from his scraggly beard. " _No one has dared to touch the Sands directly. Torres, the young Unspeakable who discovered the clams in Atlantis, simply - 'puff'!_ " He demonstrated gesturing with his hands. " _He disappeared, never to be seen or found again. We only had an inkling of what happened because his partner was there, several feet away from him. There is no knowing what the Sands will do to a wizard, and even less a baby. It could affect his magical core, it could_ -"

" _I KNOW it will work_ ," interrupted Gellert sternly, now looking impatient and irritated. " _Regardless, it's your task to discover how it will affect the baby, if at all, and take measures to prevent any serious harm to him. And of course, you have to create a spell which will control the properties of the Sands of Time, to make the baby travel precisely fifty-three years into the past_." Imparting those new orders and information, he then waved a hand and added magnanimously, " _I grant you permission to make use of any of my prisoners in the dungeons as test-subjects_."

Then he nonchalantly turned around and commanded briskly, " _Come, Konrad. We're done here and we have much to discuss_."

A mute and pale-faced Konrad followed the Dark Lord towards the door, but then Gellert paused to glance over his shoulder at Anacleto, who was by then nervously dabbing his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief.

" _Oh_ ," said Gellert to the former Unspeakable as an afterthought, " _the spell must be wandless and nonverbal. There will be one witness, in particular, who will see what I do and he must never know what magic I used._ " Seeing the old man's dismayed expression, Gellert's lips quirked upwards. " _Don't look so miserable, Anacleto, you have forty-three years to accomplish it, or what remains of your life if you die of old age before then_."

And with that, the Dark Lord and his Right-Hand left a shaky old wizard behind.


	10. Part II: Chapter 1

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

There's no Harry/Tom in this chapter, and I suggest you read it when you're in a patient mood, since there's no action as well. Nevertheless, as always, everything that happens and is said is important for future things.

I hope you enjoy it!

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**Part II: Chapter 1**

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The world has much changed, mused a twenty-six year old Narcissa Malfoy as she stared at herself on the large, full-body gilded mirror in her boudoir.

Ascertaining that her personal house-elf had impeccably groomed her, the dress she wore seeming like a mantle of water wrapping along her slender body and the necklace of marquise-cut, blue topazes matching her icy beauty, she then turned her mind towards the ceremony that would take place in a few moments – the Naming Ceremony for her second son, the three-weeks-old Antares Harrison Malfoy.

Narcissa made a moue of distaste at what would soon be her son's middle name. It had been the subject of many arguments between her and Lucius.

She had the right to decide on the first name, following Black tradition by choosing from names of stars or constellations, but she had expected that tradition would also be followed by giving Antares his father's name as a middle one, as had been done with Draco. Instead, Lucius had informed her that the Dark Lord had already chosen 'Harrison'.

"Harrison," she had repeated, slightly narrowing her eyes at Lucius to convey her deep dissatisfaction, "a muggle surname? Why not Harry, to add insult to injury? It is just as mundane, despicable and muggle-like, but it is at least a first name."

Her voice had been laced with just the precise amount of stinging sarcasm, to let him know she wouldn't relent in her opposition, but what she hadn't expected was for Lucius to shoot her a sharp glance, gauging and piercing.

That had given her pause, wondering why the jibe would rattle him, why he seemed apprehensive and suspicious. Furthermore, Lucius had then swiftly informed her that the Dark Lord had decided to be Antares' godfather and as such, the choosing of a middle name lay with him.

Narcissa had remained silent at that, as Lucius expressed what a great honor was being bestowed upon them, by having the Dark Lord as the godfather of one of their sons. She couldn't dispute that, but the sheer strangeness of it added to her mounting wariness.

It was not only the fact that if the Dark Lord wanted to express his pleased satisfaction with Lucius he should have chosen Draco as the godson, the firstborn, and thus per tradition the one who should be the recipient of such gesture, but also that Lucius was so clearly distancing himself from his second son by not giving Antares his name.

She had further noticed that Lucius didn't visit the nursery at night, to gaze at his newborn son with pride and affection, as he had covertly done with Draco when he thought no one was watching.

No, Lucius was simply satisfied with Antares' birth, but evidently taking every measure to not become attached. It worried her still, making her wonder at the cause.

At first, she had thought that it could be due to the practical matter that having two sons would mean the division of the Malfoy fortune and estates between the two heirs. The Malfoys were known to have the strict rule of only having one heir precisely to avoid such problem. In the past, it was common to kill the first born females to give way to the birth of a male heir, or to simply kill at birth the spare male child who had been begotten unintentionally.

Lucius always seemed proud that his family had showed such ruthlessness, which had allowed the Malfoys to amass such a great fortune by only having one heir per generation. Meanwhile, Narcissa had always inwardly boasted that the Blacks had no need of that, their original fortune being so great that it had allowed them to have not only two branches of the family since time immemorial but also to have no need to curtail their progeny, the Black fortune seamlessly divided among all without causing squabbles.

But she had soon discovered that Lucius had no intention of dividing the Malfoy fortune; all would go to Draco, and Antares would only be given a generous, lifelong allowance.

It was not enough, in her view; no son of hers would be thought a pauper by comparison. However, Narcissa knew not to fight a lost battle and was already planning what could be done for Antares. Her objective was to gain for him all the Black estates and fortune.

One of her Black cousins, Sirius, had been disowned since the man was a teen, and Regulus had mysteriously disappeared nearly a year ago. That only left who was now the Patriarch of Black House, the only surviving Black of his generation: doddering, old Alphard Black, who had long ago become a recluse in Grimmauld Place.

If only old Alphard was dead, as he was by now in her Old Past, it would be much simpler. Nevertheless, Narcissa knew what to do; when Antares was older, she would start paying visits to her Uncle Alphard, taking Antares along with her, and subtly manipulating matters so that an attachment was formed between old man and boy, so that Alphard would ultimately name Antares his heir.

Alphard Black had always been a sentimental fool, according to what her father had once said regarding his brother, thus Narcissa only needed to be patient.

Narcissa flicked her wand and added a dangling curl of blond hair to her hairdo, and finally satisfied with her appearance, she picked up the trail of her dress and with an elegant, fluid motion, left her lavish, tasteful bedroom.

As she reached the grand stairwell, which led to the ground floor of Malfoy Manor -the sounds of the chattering of guests, the clinking of goblets and the soft, melodic, background music reaching her ears- she met Lucius by the balustrade and placed her hand on the arm he solicitously offered.

Lucius' eyes swept along her with approval and then they silently descended; not a word spoken between them, since as usual they left their conversations for private moments. Foremost, in public, they presented a joined front.

There was no deep, passionate love between them, but rather companionship, mutual support as they both dexterously danced the political spheres, displaying a match in dispositions, breeding and social skills, and even trust – trust that they would both do what was best for their family, even when they had slightly differing opinions on what that entailed. But such arguments and plots were left for when they were alone.

And thus they were received by their guests, those most attached to the Malfoys either by blood or political and business connections: the Greengrasses, the Goyles and Crabbes, the Parkinsons, Jezabel Zabini and her fifth new husband with their baby son, the Carrows and Averys, the Notts and Puceys, the Flints, and such, and of course, the Lestranges - Bellatrix with her husband Rabastan, and Andromeda, Rodolphus and their baby boy, Lorcan.

As Narcissa swept her gaze along the congregated guests, she inevitably reminisced about the day it had all changed, turning her world upside down. It had been October 31st, 1981; nearly ten months ago.

The Dark Lord Voldemort had left to pay a visit to the Potters, to kill them all for some mysterious reason of his own. The Grey Wizard, as the unknown man was called since he always appeared in public in a hooded grey cloak, which shrouded his face, was nowhere to be seen.

Up until then she had known nothing regarding the man except what she had learned through her husband's chilly words when he vented his frustrations; how the Grey Wizard had simply appeared one day a few months ago, demanding to see the Dark Lord, how after that first meeting behind closed doors he had been a frequent guest, and how most of the Death Eaters grumbled about it.

Regardless, it had been that very night of All Hallows Eve, a few moments past midnight, when the Death Eaters had felt their Dark Marks burning, alerting them that something had happened to their Lord after going to the Potter's, the very night Lucius had found that the wards had dropped around the pensieve his father had so long ago left him -along with the grimoire and instructions of precisely when to use the ritual- and when Lucius had plunged into the pensieve and told her nothing of what he had found out. After which, Lucius had swiftly gathered the Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons, and the Lestranges and convinced them to undergo the ritual as they waited for the Dark Lord's return.

Then a Death Eater had suddenly burst into Malfoy Manor, relaying the news that the Potter's home was in shambles, nothing left but the corpses of James and Lily Potter, the Dark Lord's wand lying on ashes –presumably all that was left of him- and with the Potter's baby gone.

For some reason, it seemed that that had been precisely what Lucius had been waiting for.

The Lestranges, Bellatrix and Barty Crouch Jr. were in a raging frenzy, disbelieving the news of the demise of their Lord and with every intention of going to the Longbottoms, to torture them for information, since it was known that Lord Voldemort had planned on killing them after being done with the Potters.

In a drastic action which had surprised Narcissa, Lucius had ordered them to stay put and then had swiftly locked down the wards on Malfoy Manor, preventing anyone from leaving, clearly having no time to waste in trying to get through the Lestranges and Bellatrix.

Then he had apparated away and had left Narcissa to deal with her enraged sister.

Many long hours had passed, night turning to day as she awaited for Lucius' return, when by evening time, it had happened: she had had the fleeting sensation that the very earth shook, and then memories she had never before experienced had flooded into her mind, making her gasp and clench her eyes shut at the avalanche, at the surplus of information which warred with other set of memories, fluidly and painlessly, yet leaving her dazed and disoriented.

Some of those recollections were the exact same, others not, yet her two sets of memories seemed to fuse together precisely then. It still perplexed and confused her.

All the while, those Death Eaters and followers who hadn't been chosen by Lucius to undergo the ritual had shrieked and screamed, falling to their knees, their expressions one of agony as if their minds were being torn apart. And then, as two Death Eaters had vanished into thin air, as if they had never existed, there had been silence.

Those Death Eaters for which the change had been painful, had blinked, standing up and puzzling about why they had been on the floor, remembering nothing of what had happened. They didn't have two pasts, only one; the new.

And then Narcissa had seen her sister Andromeda standing there, out of the blue, so changed for the worse, and with a baby boy in her arms which appeared to be several months younger than Draco.

Andromeda had carefully plopped the child into Rodolphus' arms, with all the naturalness in the world and as if it was something she frequently did. Though she hadn't shown an ounce of affection for the man.

Meanwhile, Rodolphus had stared at her and then at Bellatrix and back, looking dazed and blinking quickly. Finally, he had automatically wrapped his arms around the baby boy and simply stood rooted in place, looking as if a rush of tumultuous thoughts were spinning in his mind and he didn't quite know what to make of it all.

All the while Bellatrix had begun shrieking with crowing laughter, with giggles interspersed here and there, as she raised her arms into the air and madly spun around, whilst Rabastan fixedly stared at her with wide eyes and a paling face.

As Narcissa had finally allowed the new set of her memories to encompass her mind, she had begun to faintly understand the scene before her. Though with Bellatrix it was impossible to know what was going through her mind; whether the witch's celebration was due to the fact that she had now a new, younger husband or if it was because the Dark Lord-

Narcissa had frowned at that aborted thought, feeling hazily and increasingly confused. She hadn't had the time to order her thoughts or recollections since Lucius had then abruptly apparated back, uncharacteristically stumbling and looking vastly disoriented.

She had instantly gone to him, taking Lucius by the arm as she steered him to take a seat. All the while, she had taken particular notice of the things he was muttering under his breath, as if to himself.

"…the half-giant oaf and Dumbledore recognized him from the past… it's like Father had said… the two lines converged right then, it was the point of origin… I think it worked, it must have worked…"

Narcissa hadn't been able to understand her husband's mumblings –lines and origins?- and her temper had flared, since she had still felt confused and uneasy regarding the two sets of memories she possessed.

"Lucius, do me the courtesy of explaining matters to me," she had whispered sharply, "or I will scream."

Lucius had snapped his head up at that, staring at her and gauging the seriousness of her threat, to then quietly hiss through his teeth, "You would not dare."

Narcissa had arched a delicate eyebrow at him, challengingly. In the next second, though, she had relented. No, she wouldn't, she hadn't been about to make a scene in public; she had better breeding than that.

Thus, she had simply sat down next to him and turned her face around to gaze at him with a cold look. "Well?"

"All you need to know is –"

" _All_ I need to know?" she had interjected testily, her expression chilling as her tone of voice slightly rose.

Lucius had shot her a look of warning. "Cissy, please."

She had skewered him with her gaze and then quietly cleared her throat. "Pardon me."

Her husband had nodded, accepting her apology, and Narcissa had simply waited, her spine straight, her beautiful face impassive.

Lucius then had seemingly ordered his own thoughts, decided what she should know, and had grabbed her hands, as he whispered adamantly, "Listen, Cissy, our life up until now – that's our old past. The new memories we now have, of a different life, that's our new past – it's the only past that matters. It is, from now on, our true past. Forget the old and embrace the new. Now things are for the better, because they were made to be better. And right now we only have one present and will only have one future. Do you understand?"

"I do not," she had answered coldly, piercing him with her gaze, demanding she would be told the full extent of it.

Lucius had made a noise of vexation, but Narcissa hadn't had the chance to press him for more information, since at that instant three wizards had apparated before the congregated Death Eaters: the Grey Wizard, Abraxas Malfoy, and the Dark Lord.

Seeing the latter two had been like a spine-chilling shock to Narcissa. There, was Abraxas Malfoy, alive, looking to be in his thirties, as if he was Lucius' brother and not his father. And the Dark Lord, so different from the one she had known from her 'old past', as Lucius had called it.

That was not Lord Voldemort before her; gone was the wizard she remembered from her Old Past, no longer with a pasty, pale face with features which lacked definition, no longer with slitted pupils like that of a serpent's, the irises now dark blue which only turned that fearsome shade of crimson when the wizard displayed powerful dark magic or when his temper took a hold of him. His features were now regal and handsome, his hair a silky, wavy black, and his appearance that of a thirty-year-old young man in his prime.

He was Lord Slytherin, her mind supplied, from the new set of memories she now possessed. Marvolo Slytherin.

Narcissa had forced her mind to quiet down, not deigning the moment to be appropriate for inward perusals. Instead, she had smoothly stood up while Lucius had met Abraxas in a tight embrace, both men strongly patting each other on the back, like father and son at long last reunited.

Of course, for the rest of the Death Eaters nothing seemed strange; they only remembered the New Past. Indeed, they had received the three wizards with the usual acclaim and nothing else.

Only the Crabbes, Goyles, and Parkinsons were whispering among themselves, undoubtedly attempting to match the Abraxas Malfoy who had died from dragon pox so long ago, in their Old Past, with the Abraxas Malfoy they saw before them. And indubitably, they were trying to match the Dark Lord from their Old Past, Lord Voldemort, with the one of their New Past, Lord Slytherin.

Narcissa had swept by the tight little group that those families had formed and had heard their speculations; '… the Dark Lord is much more powerful now, and he must be immortal, and what had Abraxas Malfoy done to remain so young? – the Dark Lord must have conferred to him immortality and eternal youth, somehow…'

The other family who had undergone the ritual from Abraxas' grimoire was the Lestranges of course, but Narcissa had seen that they had all been too occupied with their own problems to pay much attention to anything else.

Rodolphus had still looked shocked at having found himself with Andromeda for a wife and with a son to boot, while Rabastan had seemed to want to scream and protest for having found himself saddled with Bellatrix for a wife. And Bellatrix…

Narcissa had sighed. Well, Bellatrix hadn't appeared to have had any problems in adjusting to her new situation. She had been by then clinging to the Dark Lord, worshipfully gazing up at him. If Bellatrix had fanatically adored the Dark Lord before, when he was Lord Voldemort, now that he was the handsome Lord Slytherin for all the more reason.

Finally, after making sure that all her guests had been properly attended to, Narcissa had slipped away to the library for a moment of peace in which she could make head and tails of the situation. She had chosen her favorite chaise longue and had rested her eyes as she plunged into her two sets of memories.

The immediate differences between New and Old Past were simple to detect: Andromeda's and Bellatrix's marriages, Regulus disappearing instead of Gringotts' goblins notifying her that he was declared dead as had happened in the Old Past, Alphard Black still living, and most importantly, the Grey Wizard, Abraxas Malfoy and the Dark Lord.

The Grey Wizard's case was peculiar; it had confused her. They were the same in both her New and Old Past. She still had never seen the wizard's face, always hooded, but the man looked to be hunched under his robe, in both Pasts. The only difference was that in the New Past, the Grey Wizard had been by Lord Slytherin's side since the seventies, when Lord Slytherin had made himself the Dark Lord. In the Old Past, however, the Grey Wizard had simply appeared out of the blue, and had just been visiting Lord Voldemort during a few months before the Dark Lord had gone to kill the Potters.

Regarding the Dark Lord himself, from her New Past she remembered when she had been a girl and her mother, Druella Rosier, had gushed and praised the handsome and brilliant Marvolo Slytherin from her schooldays, who had formed the Knights of Walpurgis who would later become the Death Eaters. Druella had also said something about a boy she had detested, Marvolo Slytherin's twin.

Narcissa had frowned at that, since nowhere in her New Past did she find anything relating to that mysterious twin of the Dark Lord, but she soon discarded it as inconsequential. The boy must have died from some illness or some such thing and it didn't affect her anyway.

Furthermore, from her New Past Narcissa remembered her own schooldays during the seventies when the first rumors about a Dark Lord had started to spread among dark pureblood circles. When she had become engaged to Lucius she had even met him in person and had been struck by Lord Slytherin's handsomeness and cunning, charming manners. Nevertheless, the dark power the wizard exuded had always been frightening as well as awe-inspiring.

Indeed, comparing the Dark Lords from her Old and New Past, besides the differences in appearance, there were also differences in their personalities. She had always thought Lord Voldemort to be dangerously unbalanced, but Lord Slytherin was quite another matter. He was fierce and fear-inspiring, surely, but also suave and highly skilled in smooth, subtle manipulations.

Perhaps that Lord Slytherin wasn't savagely deranged as when he had been Lord Voldemort could explain why the wizard felt much more powerful. Lord Voldemort had been incredibly powerful, of course, but not to such a flabbergasting degree that left everyone breathless when in his presence for long as happened with Lord Slytherin.

Of course, Abraxas was also added to the mix. Lucius' father was the right-hand of Lord Slytherin, Narcissa saw from her set of memories of her New Past.

It hadn't happened like in the Old Past, when Abraxas had sole-handedly raised Lucius since the man's wife, Kasimira von Krauss, had never taken any great interest and had died when Lucius had been a child. Back then, Abraxas had been a Death Eater but hadn't been too deeply involved, rather more occupied with his businesses and with strictly raising his heir, to ultimately die from dragon pox when Lucius had been eighteen years old.

On the other hand, Narcissa saw that in the New Past it had been Kasimira who had raised Lucius. Abraxas had only been popping in and out of Lucius' life. Later it was known that he had been spending all those years with Lord Slytherin, in travels, apparently. Indeed, Abraxas had only returned to England, to stay, in the seventies, when Lord Slytherin had begun to make a name for himself as a Dark Lord. With Abraxas back in England to take the reins of Malfoy business and to take care of his son, Kasimira had then left to lead her own life as she pleased. She was still alive, living in Argentina or some such place, apparently.

Regardless, what mattered to Narcissa was that she and Kasimira didn't seem stand each other, from the few times they had met before the woman had left England, in the New Past.

Other than that, and that she saw that there were some people who didn't exist and some other new ones who did, comparing Old and New Past, there wasn't that great deal of a difference.

Even that day had been very similar in the New Past; Lord Slytherin had gone to kill the Potters at midnight of All Hallows Eve, reason still unknown, though the Grey Wizard had accompanied him –instead of being missing like in the Old Past- along with Abraxas. All the while the Death Eaters had gathered at Malfoy Manor to await, and Lucius had taken the Crabbes, Goyles, Parkinsons and Lestranges –without Andromeda- along with her, and had conducted the ritual.

The same ritual with the same families as in the Old Past, and also with them being none the wiser of why it was needed and what it did, exactly. Though in this instance they all knew that the Dark Lord approved it. In the Old Past, Narcissa didn't think Lord Voldemort had known about it.

On another note, the only thing that stood out was that even though the Wizarding War of the 40s was lost in basically the same way, Gellert Grindelwald had simply disappeared, never to be seen or heard from again, instead of having been defeated by Albus Dumbledore and then imprisoned in Nurmengard.

But again, she had deemed that that hardly affected her, so she had dismissed it. Oh, how foolish she had been.

Having done that little analysis, which had helped her to ease her mind from the conflicting set of memories, Narcissa had then left the library, to find the Death Eaters and other followers celebrating in the ballroom.

The Dark Lord Slytherin had been giving a speech regarding his plans for the future; "… now at last, real changes will come," he had said.

And during the grand celebration that followed, Narcissa had been given a gift.

"We can have a second child, Cissy," Lucius had told her as he pulled her to a side in the midst of the gathering. "The Dark Lord insists upon it, he is granting us a great favor in payment for my service and loyalty."

Narcissa had stared back at him, speechless yet also wary and suspicious. Her husband had never wished for another child and the healers had warned her, after Draco's birth, that attempting a second pregnancy would be extremely dangerous for her health.

However, if the Dark Lord had a way to heal her womb, as was evidently implied, and even if he did it only to have another Malfoy to add to his ranks in the future, she had been willing to pay the price.

It hadn't been out of maternal, loving and sentimental wishes of having another baby. No, it had been more raw and primal than that; it was a desire to have another life which would be flesh of her flesh and blood of her blood, another Black that wouldn't be the Malfoy heir but, rather, completely hers.

And yet, what had followed after she had accepted, she hadn't anticipated. Abraxas had a whole wing of Malfoy Manor for himself, as expected since he had lived there in the New Past, but the Dark Lord, as well, had installed himself in the best guest room after that night of celebration in which Narcissa and Lucius had conceived their second child.

It had been then when her misgivings and apprehensions had begun.

It started the following day after the celebration, when the Dark Lord had cast a spell to ascertain that she had a new life growing in her womb, and when the Dark Lord had given her a present – a hideous golden locket with an incrusted emerald upon which laid a silver serpent in the shape of an 'S', evidently a Slytherin heirloom.

She would have felt honored by the priceless gift, but she grew to be wary of it due to what it made her feel: not the potent dark magic that emanated from it, but the stirring of something within, as if frantically wishing to escape.

During all those months of pregnancy in which she had wore it, she had experienced several nights in which she had been abruptly awoken, dazedly thinking she had heard a desperate wail from within the depths of the locket. Try as she might, she hadn't been able to open it, but still the sensation had remained that there was something there that frenziedly cried for release from its prison.

The Dark Lord had become a fixture in the Manor in the following months of her pregnancy, allowing no healers to attend to her but only Severus Snape and himself.

Furthermore, Lord Slytherin had constantly laid a hand on her bulging and growing belly, without bothering to ask for permission but rather intent and concentrated in his actions, making Narcissa feel streams of dark magic flowing from the wizard's palm to be infused into the life she carried. She hadn't said a word but she had wondered with concern about the cause for the Dark Lord's wish for such transfer.

The Dark Lord gave nothing for free, and never his own magic, so why? And why such an interest in a second son of the Malfoy House? She still didn't know, and even though it was a further honor to have the Dark Lord as her son's godfather, it didn't bode well regarding what the Dark Lord would demand in the future.

Furthermore, most peculiar of all, Abraxas didn't take any interest in her pregnancy. He even seemed to avoid her during those months, as if something about it was unbearable and painful to him. Quite in contrast with how content and proud he had been when Draco was begotten and born in her New Past, which was the past of the life she led now.

Narcissa pulled away from her musings and regarded the guests present for Antares' Naming Ceremony.

As usually happened when Narcissa laid eyes upon her elder sister, she felt a twinge of regret but which passed swiftly as she suppressed it. Yes, Andromeda had changed much compared to how she had been in her Old Past. There was no happiness in Andromeda's eyes: they were dull, her expression hard, bitter and beaten down.

Nevertheless, Narcissa rather have a sister properly married and occupying her rightful social standing, than an estranged one who had turned her back to heritage and blood, betraying all to follow a selfish whim of love for a mudblood.

Narcissa still remembered that memory of her Old Past, when she had once seen Andromeda meandering in Diagon Alley with a six-year-old girl whose hair continually changed from pink to purple. Their gazes had met then, very briefly, and Narcissa had seen the happiness in Andromeda's eyes, the love and pride she held for her small daughter. It had been fleeting, and Narcissa had coldly and indifferently turned her gaze away from the elder sister she had once loved so deeply and whom she felt had betrayed her when abandoning her family.

Now, as Narcissa saw it, Andromeda's happiness and her daughter had been swapped for a proper marriage and a boy, a Lestrange heir. She had her sister back, in a situation in which they could be close, and it was a fair price. And better yet, Andromeda didn't know what she had lost and thus wouldn't suffer for it.

With Lucius by her, Narcissa at last took her place before the marble plinth in which her son Antares laid wrapped in a black, silk blanket, with Hetty, the nursemaid house-elf, nervously fidgeting as she made sure the baby wouldn't move too much and tumble down. Bellatrix, Abraxas, the Dark Lord and the Grey Wizard were by her side at the forefront of the gathering.

Indeed, the 'Grey Wizard'. Still no one knew who he was yet rumors and speculations ran amok. However, Narcissa knew; she remembered. Yet she had to repress a chilly shudder and drive away the memory of when she had given birth to Antares and seen the man's face.

Nevertheless, she was quite certain Lucius knew the man's identity by now and she had no doubt that the Dark Lord would soon reveal it – it would only add to his political clout and to his following.

She observed the Dark Lord's expression as the wizard stared down at Antares, and the possessive, satisfied and smug look on the man's handsome face - something in it - chilled her to the bone.

Moreover, it still marveled her that all knew about the Dark Lord's blood status as a halfblood, so unlike her Old Past where the wizard had been a mystery and the name Lord Voldemort wasn't uttered even in a whisper since it instilled abject fear.

Now the name Voldemort had never existed and it was known that Marvolo Slytherin was a halfblood, and yet none of the purebloods cared, not when the wizard's power and dark magic thrummed and vibrated around him so potently and enticingly.

Nevertheless, she reminded herself, still many mysteries regarding the Dark Lord remained. Foremost, what the wizard had been doing all those years when he and Abraxas were missing, and what the Dark Lord had done to make them have two sets of memories.

At first, the most obvious answer that had come to her mind was that the powerful wizard had changed the past.

Lord Voldemort had been waging a years-long war up until the moment he went to kill the Potters for whatever reason, and yet the Dark Lord's attempts to have wizarding Britain under his rule had been unsuccessful. Many raids and attacks and political plots had been carried, but admitting it bluntly, the wizard had been failing.

Thus, it could lead to believe that the Dark Lord had taken a desperate and risky measure of changing the past, which had borne Lord Slytherin.

However, Narcissa had covertly researched the matter -careful that Lucius wouldn't discover her pursuit- and everything she had read had made it clear that changing the past wasn't possible and that time-travelling was a very risky business that not even a Dark Lord would be crazed enough to attempt.

Furthermore, if the wizard had somehow time-travelled by mysterious means –since from what she had read, the 24-hour standard time-turner didn't allow the user to truly change anything – then why hadn't the Dark Lord changed the past so that he had already conquered as much of the wizarding world as possible?

As far as she could see, nothing significant had been changed up until the day when the Potters had been killed.

Up until then, her Old and New Past were very similar in the grand scheme of things: the political regimes were the same in the wizarding world, Britain still had a Ministry of Magic controlled by light wizards, and the Dark Lord, both Lord Voldemort in the Old Past and Lord Slytherin in the New Past, had still been uselessly waging a war – the exact same raids and attacks, eerily enough, only that Lord Slytherin seemed to have always expected the failures, his punishments bland, as if he was just going through the motions.

The true changes had come after the Dark Lord, Lord Slytherin, had returned to Malfoy Manor after killing the Potters, with Abraxas and the Grey Wizard in tow.

It was from then on when Britain's wizarding world had been turned upside down, as if the Dark Lord had had a renewed surge of vitality, power, and brilliancy - or as if he had been long waiting to finally put his true plans into action. It was most peculiar.

Failed and pointless raids were no longer conducted, the man's very strategy had been drastically changed, and a swift coup d'état had been efficiently managed from within the very Ministry of Magic. So quickly, so suddenly, that no one had had time to blink or even do anything against it before it was a fait accompli.

And more perplexing of all, the one wizard whom Narcissa had expected to attempt to fight against it had simply vanished. Indeed, Albus Dumbledore had fled, of all unexpected and uncharacteristical things, from Britain, along with several light wizarding families like the Weasleys, the Bones, and the Longbottoms.

Their names were now infamous, the 'Wanted' as they were listed as, and none knew their whereabouts. Though the Dark Lord didn't seem particularly interested in finding them nor worried about what Albus Dumbledore could be doing and plotting.

Those purebloods, even the light-oriented, which remained had simply embraced the change of political regime in the Ministry of Magic with calmness, clearly waiting to see if it would serve their interests. Indeed, she had even expected that her estranged cousin, Sirius Black, would have trailed after Dumbledore, given that the man's friends, the Potters, were dead and since he was close to the Longbottoms. And yet she had heard that Sirius was out and about, lingering in England.

The rest -the halfbloods and mudbloods- seemed to be either too afraid or simply resigned, knowing they didn't have the power to form a serious opposition, not with Albus Dumbledore gone. Furthermore, they still didn't have any great cause for concern.

The Dark Lord had implemented, through his control over the Ministry, subtle and slow changes, evidently being careful to not raise alarm among the populace. There was still a Ministry of Magic after all, still the illusion of a democracy and not the dictatorship of a Dark Lord.

Indeed, in the face of the public, the one who dictated policy was Lucius himself, the Minister who had been elected by the Wizengamot, indisputably, openly and 'legally'.

Though Narcissa still wondered what price the Dark Lord had demanded from Lucius in exchange for such an exalted position. The fact that Lucius had been informed of his new career the very day the Dark Lord detected she was pregnant with Antares made her suspect, and already was she plotting how to avoid or confront the worst.

All of it had happened during her pregnancy, added to the changes at Hogwarts through the appointment of Severus Snape as Headmaster and the Carrows as professors for the new Dark Arts class, along with several other adjustments.

Narcissa knew well that the most drastic changes would come in the months to follow, subtly and step by step, with wise patience since that seemed to be the Dark Lord's new strategy.

She had an inkling of who could have influenced the wizard's modus operandi. It could have only been the Grey Wizard, given what she knew of him, and she could only wonder for how long the latter had mentored the former and what further plans they had up their sleeves.

That the Dark Lord would soon be plotting to take over the rest of Europe was evident given the wizard's latest speeches to his followers; that it would be done as sagely as the coup in Britain was also clear. That perhaps some country would rebel and would wage a war was also possible. But Narcissa no longer feared the risk it represented to her family, not as she would have if the Dark Lord had been Lord Voldemort instead of Lord Slytherin.

And yet, she still wondered why the Dark Lord had waited so long - why until then.

The discreet clearing of a throat made her abruptly pull away from her thoughts, and Narcissa shot Lucius a glance, understanding dawning on her when she then caught sight of the expectant guests.

Remembering her duty, she smoothly turned her head to a side as she bowed and softly spoke with the just amount of deference and politeness, "May we begin, My Lord?"

With Lord Slytherin's terse agreement, the Naming Ritual commenced. And as since she had no great part in it, she allowed her mind to wander once more, while father, godfather, and the godmother she had chosen –her sister Bellatrix– conducted the proceedings and intoned the name-bestowing enchantment that would ensure Antares a place in the Malfoy and Black family records and tree-lines.

Indeed, as she silently gazed down at her three-weeks-old baby, she was struck, briefly, by the spine-chilling fear she had felt the day she had given birth to Antares.

The experience had been horrible, terrifying and traumatic, and it still shook her to the very bones when she remembered it.

However, all doubts vanished from her mind when, as she observed her son, Antares' eyes, which looked so huge and endearing in his tiny face, abruptly changed to a silvery blue as he gazed up at his father and gurgled, his locks of wavy black with some curls here and there transforming to a tuft of platinum blond hair.

She even saw Lucius' lips quirking upwards at Antares' unwitting imitation of his father's looks, and a strong thought reverberated in her mind as she gazed back at her son: he's mine, there's no doubt about it, no matter what they did to him.

A surge of fierce pride swelled up within her as Antares' coloring changed once again. A Black through and through, a Metamorphagi at that; the greater and most powerful display of his Black ancestry that could be had, and what an honor and merit it was to have a son with such a blood trait present in him.

While Draco looked more like Lucius with every passing day, Antares was clearly all her. The shape of Antares' features didn't change yet, he was by far too young to modify such with his Metamorphagus ability, unwittingly or not, but Narcissa was content with it since it gave her ample opportunity to see how much he resembled her; her refined and delicate features in a tiny, boyish face.

He would be stunning.

Draco was Lucius', the heir to be molded by his father as he pleased, to be strictly taught how to be the future Patriach of Malfoy House, and Narcissa would simply limit herself to temper Lucius' lessons with subvert, subtle and brief coddling, to give Draco some slight measure of a carefree childhood. But Antares would be different.

Lucius had chosen to not stake a claim on him, implicitly, by inaction, but she had made it clear that she had.

The spare son, the superfluous Malfoy child who would receive no Malfoy vault or estate, would be a Black, all hers, through and through. Hers to pass unto him the Black legacy and all teachings, hers to ensure a way for him to receive all Black vaults and estates, hers to shape and raise without Lucius' interference.

At last the ceremony came to an end, followed by the congratulations of their guests and even by Bellatrix cooing at Antares, raking a sharp nail along one small, round cheek, causing the baby to wail in complaint, though Bellatrix seemed to find it vastly amusing as she let out a crowing giggle and said in a pleased singsong, "Little, bitty, tiny Black - Black, Black, Black."

Narcissa simply allowed her sister to have her fun until she detected that Antares was quickly getting moodier and increasingly fussy.

Shooting a cold look at Bellatrix for what the witch had caused –with Bellatrix answering back with a nasty, smug smirk and another crow of laughter– she sharply ordered Hetty the house-elf to take the baby back to his nursery. And with a swift round of making her excuses to her guests with promises of returning shortly, she soon followed after.

As she crossed the Manor with an elegant fluidity of motion, she caught sight of a figure following at her same pace, but not along the corridors as her, but through walls and doors.

Narcissa didn't falter in her steps, though her jaw clenched momentarily and her hand automatically made a move to reach her wand – she forestalled that action and simply continued, keeping track of the figure from the corner of her eyes.

As soon as she reached Antares' nursery she curtly dismissed Hetty and simply stood by the cradle, gazing down at a wailing Antares who had clearly had had too much excitement for one day.

She just waited, without moving, as she stared at her son.

She noticed the exact moment the figure came out of a wall and placidly stood by a corner, inches away from the cradle. Only then did Narcissa raise her head to stare at It.

It looked exactly the same as the two times she had seen It; shimmering, nearly translucent and with a golden light which seemed to sparkle and emanate from It - or him, she didn't quite know.

If It had a solid consistency she would think he was a wizard, a man in his early twenties, tanned, handsome and manly, with curls of dark hair and the eeriest eyes she had ever seen – milky white, sheer, and sometimes even seeming as if clouds, or nebulas or even tiny stars moved through them, like reflections.

The eyes made a shudder run down her spine.

Antares had been born with those eyes and when she had seen her baby for the first time she had nearly screamed in horror, thinking that what they had done to him had caused her son to become blind. Then, in the next second, Antares' eyes had turned into her shade of clear blue and she had let out a deep exhalation of relieved breath.

Nevertheless, it rattled her and she didn't know the reason why Antares had had those eyes, like It's, and why sometimes, briefly, her son's eyes would turn into that hue again.

It seemed to be his default color; that, and a beautiful, vibrant shade of green – which sometimes she had the vague sensation she had seen before.

Regardless, at present, it was the third time she saw It.

The first occasion had been during Antares' birth and she had simply thought at the time that she had been hallucinating, caused by the pain or simply due to the horrendous proceedings.

It hadn't spoken then, just stood there, like a ghostly observer, saying nothing and simply watching. And the three wizards who had been in her room hadn't noticed or detected It in any way. By the time Narcissa had recovered her coherency and coolness, It was gone.

The second time had been the day after, when Narcissa had gone into the nursery to visit her newborn son, halting in her tracks by the threshold, momentarily petrified as she saw It standing by the cradle and gazing down at Antares with an odd intensity in It's eerie eyes.

Narcissa had been further alarmed when Hetty had gone through It as if it wasn't there at all, clearly the house-elf not seeing It either. Only Narcissa seemed to be capable of seeing It, evidently because It wanted her to.

That day she hadn't thought about it twice and a curse had been on her lips as she whipped out her wand, at the same time that she manipulated the wards of Malfoy Manor with the fingertips of her left hand. But as commanded by the swift movements of her fingers, the wards hadn't wrapped around It and flung It out of the Manor. No, nothing had happened, and Narcissa had been puzzled and scared.

The wards couldn't get a hold of It and It looked like a strange ghost, but she knew It couldn't be that.

Years ago, in her very first day as Lucius Malfoy's newlywed wife, she had swept along the whole Manor, taking control of the house-elves, letting the wards adjust to her as they keyed her in and gave her a control over them which she would share with Lucius, while she inspected every nook and cranny of her new home and planned for the modifications in décor she would make. Then she had been abruptly startled when a pair of Malfoy ancestor ghosts had floated through her.

With one look at them she had deemed them uninteresting and annoying and she had instantly demanded of Lucius that they be banished to some faraway corner of the Manor. It was distasteful to have ghosts rattling and bothering guests and family, and it would not happen in her domain. Lucius had grudgingly yielded to her demands and now the wards would allow no ghosts outside of the Portrait Hall.

Thus, she had known It was no ghost, that day when she had seen It in the nursery. Nevertheless, after failing with the wards, she had begun enchanting a curse as she weaved her wand in the air, but then It had spoken as it raised its hands in a surrendering manner, a soft smile on its face.

"I mean no harm, to you or your family," It had said with a thick Spanish accent, its eerie eyes crinkling with amusement. "If I had the slightest intention of it, the wards of this manor would not only prevent it but also immediately expel me out."

With her heart still beating hard with anxiousness and apprehension, Narcissa had nonetheless regained her coolness, her eyes then narrowing slightly as she shot him a piercing, gauging gaze as she considered his statement, her wand still aimed at It.

It took her seconds to deem that It was right; even though the wards couldn't take a hold of It at present, she knew that the moment It made any threatening moves, the wards would act, no matter what It was or if It seemingly didn't have any corporeal solidity.

"Who are you?" she had then demanded in a sharp tone of voice.

"You can call me Santi, if you wish," It had said, a gentle smile growing on its face.

Given that unedifying answer which elucidated nothing to her, her voice had grown hard as she had asked bluntly, her gaze sweeping along his figure, "What are you – a magical creature of some kind?"

A dark eyebrow quirked upwards, It's smile turning into a lopsided grin as he let out a short, rumbling bout of amused laughter. "A creature? No, no." Then It had shot her a glance, and added calmly, "I'm not a wizard either, if you were wondering." It shrugged its shoulders. "I'm simply me."

"Yes, of course, that clears everything up," Narcissa had interjected tartly and poignantly. "Why are you here? What do you want-"

"Here?" It had interrupted, looking vastly amused as it gazed around the surroundings. "But I'm not here. I'm nowhere." It shot her a grin, adding loftily, "Or I should better say, I'm anywhere, anywhen. As for my purpose…" It's eerie eyes gazed back at Antares in his cradle and continued quietly, "I'm here to see him. I'll be paying him visits frequently."

And before Narcissa could open her mouth to express just what she thought of that, It had vanished with a cheerful wave of its hand.

In the three weeks that had followed she had simply continued thinking of him as It, or The Thing, or 'Santi', as he had said, if she felt generous, which had only happened twice. Indeed, she only felt vexation and impotence regarding the matter, and thus anger and wariness.

And now there he was, before her for the third time, and Narcissa had every intention of obtaining answers.

Evidently, The Thing meant no harm or the wards wouldn't allow him passage, but It could still come and go as it pleased and It was still hovering near her baby son's cradle, staring with an odd expression on his translucent face at a fidgety Antares who was waving his tiny hands in the air, pouting and demandingly gurgling, wanting to be picked up.

Yet, Narcissa didn't move, she wanted to have her hands and arms free, just in case, and she simply stared at 'Santi', waiting. Most of times, people felt compelled to fill tense silences and would inevitably speak of anything and thus reveal information. It was a lesson taught to her long ago by her father.

She remembered him with faint fondness, unlike what she had felt for her mother. Indeed, she had been her father's favorite.

Cygnus Black had never bestowed upon her a touch of affection or an outward and evident show of attachment, but he had nonetheless conveyed it in his characteristical manner, by allowing her to spend time with him in the man's study, in companionable silence as they both read books of their respective interests.

In those few years when she had been a child, he had slowly and quietly imparted his lessons to her; the value of never speaking your mind, being reserved to the utmost, of keeping all thoughts to yourself and thread carefully in all conversations, the worthiness and efficiency of being -above all things- patient, stoic, subtle, and coolly levelheaded, of not giving way to brash impulses and tempestuous displays, as her mother Druella had constantly done, which Bellatrix had inherited and even Andromeda to a lesser degree.

Indeed, the only occasions Narcissa had allowed herself to act impulsively had been the few times she had deemed that a situation required swift and immediate action, after ascertaining that her spontaneous decision of how to react was the best resort. And right then, it was not the case.

As she had expected, Santi didn't take long in gazing up at her with those eerie eyes of his, as he uttered pleasantly, "I have a favor to ask of you. I need you to memorize a lullaby and you will need to sing it to Antares as often as you can during the next months."

Narcissa almost gaped at him in sheer flabbergasted incredulity. Of course, she didn't do anything so crass and simply stared back at him, conveying exactly how ridiculous and nonsensical she found the request.

But It didn't give her a chance to voice her opinion, as he swiftly sang in a soft, melodic tone, " _Once upon a time, there was a good little wolf, mistreated by all the lambs. Once upon a time, there was a bad black unicorn, a little ugly fairy, and a shy dragon. There was also once, an evil prince, a beautiful witch, and an honest pirate. There were all these things, once upon a time, when I dreamed of a world turned upside down._ "

At first, Narcissa had almost burst into derisive laughter, quite thinking The Thing had taken leave of his senses and that perhaps it was all some ridiculous prank.

Indeed, for all his strange and eerie appearance, he could just be a wizard with a glamour making him translucent and glow in golden light, and perhaps he used some spell to be able to pass through walls and doors, or any such thing.

However, as the lullaby progressed she felt the effect of it; a wave of magic settling around the room, making Antares –who had thus far been wailing softly at the lack of attention– abruptly yawn, instantly falling asleep with a placid expression on his tiny face.

The Black family didn't have such spells, but she had heard about it. The younger the child, the better it worked.

"Which House is it from?" she asked, the first thing that abruptly came to mind, too startled by the bizarre request and the lullaby that had followed.

Santi shot her a lopsided smile. "The Prince's." Then he gazed at her with a most serious and grave expression on his handsome face, and demanded, "Will you remember it or should I sing it again?"

"I am able to remember," she replied sharply, all sense of the strangeness of the situation fading away to give way to vexation and impatience. "If not, I can use a pensieve to revisit the memory of it." She skewered him with her clear blue eyes and demanded curtly, "May I know why I should sing a Prince's lullaby to my son, of all nonsensical things?"

"It's quite simple," retorted Santi in a gentle tone of voice. "A bridge must be formed between now and then. A connection is required. They believed they had it all figured out," he added in an incisive mutter, "and they were right regarding how it worked, in the whole. But you see, they didn't see the details. They didn't realize how the direct application of the substance would affect him - they had no way of knowing."

He gestured a translucent hand towards the cradle. "Now they believe that the spell they used during his birth caused Antares to have a blank soul, wiped clean from his past memories, just as they wanted, but it is not true. A soul yanked out so savagely from its body, by an unnatural and violent death as he experienced, will always remember. The recollections will come back to him suddenly, with unimaginable force, and the way he was killed, the sheer cruelty of it, the pain and suffering, will most likely rip him apart. Not to mention the recollections of the decades his soul spent trapped in the device – the locket. Antares will be too young to understand the influx of those memories - it will most likely happen soon, when he's a baby, you see. What mind of a baby would be able to withstand such without insanity soon following?"

Narcissa speechlessly stared at him, without having made sense out of any of it. She simply felt that the absurdity and nonsense of it had reached a new, insupportable level.

She was already prepared to whip out her wand again and start casting all curses that came to mind to drive him away; to call out for the house-elves if required, and even Lucius and the Dark Lord if it came to that.

However, The Thing kept talking, as if he didn't realize or care that he was under any threat from her, "The only way to help him is to ease him into it. They made you start wearing the locket the day after you conceived Antares and modified it so that filaments of his soul would slowly filter into the life you carried, creating the anchor between the timelines in the origin of the change, since he is the catalyst. The full transfer of his soul and the swap was completed when you gave birth to him. They were right to do the transfer of his soul slowly - at least they realized how it should be done so that it wouldn't be as traumatic for his soul, in this instance."

Santi held up a translucent hand the moment Narcissa attempted to get a word out, and he continued in his thick Spanish accent, "At present, it's nearly ten months after the day of origin, the day he was also conceived, and it has been three weeks since his birth, and still, his soul isn't fully anchored in his body – I can feel it. Just as he unwittingly feels that he is in a strange body, where he doesn't naturally belong. And since he, in himself, is the anchor and since the original timeline no longer exists, if his soul isn't anchored, Time will revert back to its original path by inertia. And yet that path no longer exists. We would be plunged into nothingness. So you see, it's not only for his sake but for the sake of all."

He shot her a wide, gentle grin, as he added, "He simply needs something he will instinctually recognize from his past. The simplest thing is the lullaby, which has always soothed him. The very familiarity of it will help him make the transition more smoothly and will finish rooting his soul in his new body. And once it happens, his past memories won't savagely flood into his mind; they will come to him slowly, throughout many years, and thus his sanity will not suffer for it."

Narcissa had, by now, her wand limply dangling from her upheld hand. The moment she realized it, she gripped it tightly and stowed it away. Then she gazed back at him and the first thought that came to her mind was regarding the Prince lullaby.

The only Prince alive at present was Severus Snape, and for a moment she thought it all meant that the dour Potions Master and Hogwarts' Headmaster had been covertly sneaking into Antares' nursery to sing to him the lullaby of the Princes, for how else would it be familiar to her baby?

A frenzied laughter almost escaped her lips, finding it ridiculously funny at the same time that she felt she was sinking into a chasm.

In the next second, she brutally chided herself and made an effort to regain her levelheadedness. She was purposely misunderstanding things, not wanting to really analyze and attempt to make sense of what she had been told. But why should she believe such outlandish things?

"You speak to me about my son's past, implying it was decades ago, that the body he has now is a new one, that he was killed in the past, his soul trapped for years upon years in the locket I later wore, of his horrible death, of 'they' who did it all, and you don't explain whom you are referring to, and of timelines, thus implying a time-travelling which isn't possible," she said quietly, gazing at some point in the wall across from her. Then she snapped her gaze back to him and added sharply, "And yet we are speaking of a newborn baby, a baby I gave birth to merely three weeks ago, and thus, not a being that had any other past but that of these past three weeks."

Santi skewered her with his eerie, milky white eyes, to then deeply frown at her. "Are you being purposely dense or are you really dim-witted and unable to comprehend?"

Instantly, Narcissa's usually cool temper flared at that. She squashed it down in the next second, remembering her father's teachings like a mantra; levelheadedness, calmness, patience, be stoic and unflappable, take all the time required to analyze your thoughts before deciding what to say.

She trailed her gaze around the vast nursery, basking in the depictions on the walls she had commissioned an artist to paint; it displayed an enchanted forest, with clouds placidly rolling by, as if gently pushed by a soft breeze, trees with rich foliage which sparkled with sunlight, the glow of tiny fairies fluttering from one wall to the other, squirrels meandering along branches, and beautiful unicorns and centaurs trotting through the trees, weaving in and out of sight.

It served its purpose, soothing her, helping her regain her composure and get a grip on herself, allowing her to calmly make a choice.

"I apologize," she said coolly, turning to gaze back at him. "I am indeed able to piece together the bits of information I posses. But first…" She then flicked her wand at one of the rocking chairs at one corner of the room and muttered a spell, transforming it into two plush armchairs which skidded to be placed behind each of them. "Would you be so kind as to take a seat? Make yourself comfortable, if you please."

Santi shot her a surprised look, and then warmly smiled as he flopped down on his chair, clearly believing they had reached a mutual understanding or even an alliance of sorts.

Young Narcissa had to suppress a scoff at The Thing's delusions. She simply wanted to extract from him as much information as possible, and her main objective was to garner just how much It was willing to do for her – or better said, for Antares.

That Santi was interested in her son there was no doubt about, but did he care for her child? Had he formed an attachment, and if so, what was he prepared to do for Antares' wellbeing? If The Thing truly cared, she could easily use that to her and her son's advantage. Could she really be able to acquire for her son someone who could be useful to Antares from so early on in his life?

She would glean that from The Thing afterwards, at present she had another task.

Narcissa elegantly sat down on her chair and folded her pale hands on her lap, briefly glancing at Santi, not escaping her notice that The Thing was able to sit down instead of going through the cushion of the seat.

One of her motives for having offered him a seat -besides instilling a more relaxed ambiance between them that would be conducive to a greater flow of information from him to her- had been precisely that of elucidating if he could, indeed, sit down. She had her answer; The Thing could control his solidity. She filed away that little tidbit of information in case it could be of future use or importance.

Finally, she closed her eyes, not caring what The Thing would think of her by that action, or that she was presenting a vulnerability that could be exploited. Regarding the physical danger to herself, the wards would protect her, indubitably, and that was enough.

She already knew what two experiences were related to what Santi had divulged.

The most recent one was, of course, that of when she had given birth to Antares. But she would leave that for second, not wanting to relive it right then.

The other one pertained to when she had eavesdropped on Abraxas' and Lucius' conversation, finally some of the things she had overheard making sense, and thus allowing her to-

"You know, you must be aware of who 'they' are. They were there when you had Antares and I was observing what they did. It was then when you saw me for the first time, remember? And I know you didn't forget what they did, as they believe. That Potions Master who was there covertly swapped the flasks and I heard what he whispered to you. He gave you a potion to remember, not to wipe your memory."

Narcissa's eyes flung open and she shot The Thing a look, with the precise modicum of irritation to convey that she demanded his immediate silence.

"Alright, alright," said Santi sheepishly, raising his palms, letting out a soft chuckle she would have found charming in another situation and if The Thing was not a Thing. "I'll clamp my mouth shut and let you concentrate and think about whatever you need to muse about."

She didn't bother to reply and closed her eyes once more. Yes, Abraxas' and Lucius' conversation behind closed doors, to which she hadn't been invited to participate, of course, as had happened once a week in the first months after the day of the Change – when she had found herself with two sets of memories.

She had been four months pregnant with Antares, moody, tetchy and quite fed up that Lucius was being so tight-lipped regarding what he discussed with his father – for her own good, her husband had said and still did.

With that, it had become clear to her just how Lucius regarded her. After several years of marriage during which she had proven her unparalleled social skills and the ease and dexterity she had with political maneuverings in order to obtain for the Malfoy name and prestige greater status and clout, her husband still didn't view her as his equal.

Narcissa's father had warned her about it; had point blank told her what pureblood wizards wanted and expected in a wife.

"A pureblood girl who has the fortune of being as sharp as I believe you are, must never show it openly. Let your husband underestimate you, and just use your wile for when there's a worthy prize you want to obtain. You'll catch him unawares and unprepared, and you will win. Then revert back to your façade and grant him the time to forget that his wife bested him. After he becomes comfortable and reassured in his own superiority and there's another prize to claim, strike again."

Cygnus Black had lifted a finger, piercing her with his grey eyes. "And if someday you wish and feel prepared to assume the responsibility to be a support to your husband, someone he can ask advice from and lean on, then you must ease him into it, slowly, patiently and, above all, with subtlety. In such a way that he will not remember the time when he didn't think you his match, making him believe he purposely chose a clever wife because he was strong and man enough to deal with it. Allow him to think the credit is his. We have large egos, Cissy, and the one thing we cannot bear is a wife who we feel threatened by. Just look at your mother, she's unbearable. Druella has never known how to play me. She has always been pushy, over-opinionated and demanding, and thus, I have never listened to her."

Indeed, after having Draco she had implemented that latter tactic. But that day it had become evident to her that easing Lucius into the notion that she was his intellectual equal, and his superior in astuteness in several aspects, would take longer than she had anticipated.

Nevertheless, Narcissa had taken matters into her own hands, following her impulses since she had deemed that the situation required some brashness from her part. She had had already ordered five house-elves to iron their fingers and ears just to vent some of her frustrations, and spying on Lucius would infinitely be more rewarding than that, she had thought.

When she had seen Abraxas and Lucius enter one of the studies, she had instantly remembered one of the secret passages that ran behind one of the room's walls. She had slipped inside the passage, conjured a plushy armchair to comfortably sit on, and proceeded to eavesdrop on their muffled conversation.

Abraxas had been talking about a 'portal' which had allowed the wizard the chance to meet with Lucius. Indeed, at the time she had realized what occasion was being spoken of.

It had been in her Old Past, in their seventh year at Hogwarts, when they were already of age and had been engaged for some months. It was known that Abraxas had contracted dragon pox and his days were numbered, Lucius had been fretful and quite unbearable since he wanted to leave Hogwarts and spend as much time as possible in Malfoy Manor with his progenitor. His stern father wouldn't let him miss school, though, and would only allow Lucius back home the very day he laid on his deathbed ready to draw his last breath.

It had indeed surprised her when Lucius had received an owl from his father, asking to meet him in Hogsmeade. Everyone knew that dragon pox at such an age left the infirm too weak to move and even less go anywhere. Yet the letter had clearly conveyed that Abraxas was out and about, waiting to meet his son.

Later, Lucius had returned to Hogwarts with a trunk in tow, not wanting to give any explanations. And just two days after, Abraxas had died.

Narcissa much later discovered that that trunk had contained Abraxas Malfoy's grimoire and the pensieve containing the wizard's memories; a pensieve with wards that would drop many years later on the day Lord Voldemort went to kill the Potters, also the day of the Change, and when she and Lucius had conceived Antares.

The whole affair had puzzled her, and when she had overheard the conversation, she hadn't had an inkling regarding what a 'portal' could be referring to.

Now, matching clues and information, understanding started to dawn on her.

Indeed, if she simply got rid of her former firm notion and accepted that a timeline-altering time-travelling was possible, premise that Santi evidently wanted her to believe, then she knew exactly what a portal could be. It had to be a bridge between two timelines, obviously allowing a wizard to pass through for a certain amount of hours.

It could only mean that the Abraxas who had met Lucius and given him the trunk wasn't the Abraxas dying from dragon pox.

And hadn't the Grey Wizard visited Lord Voldemort several times, during the months before the Dark Lord had gone to kill the Potters? And she knew for a fact that the Grey Wizard couldn't have been freely strutting around.

There had been two of them as well in the same Past, in the Old Past.

That explained how Abraxas had managed to create a 'portal'. Of course that Lucius' father hadn't been the one to discover how to do it. But from Lord Slytherin or the Grey Wizard, yes, she did believe they were powerful and capable enough to manage such an unprecedented accomplishment.

From that, she could infer that there had been two Dark Lords, each in their respective timelines, Lord Voldemort truly dying in the Potter's home and Lord Slytherin killing them as well but without being killed himself. And then the timelines had met – now Lucius' mutterings from that day, speaking of lines and origin, started to make sense.

That day the timelines had met, the new set of memories of what she would call her New Past had flooded into her mind, and Lord Slytherin had returned after killing the Potters. There had been no two sets of memories being produced after that. No, she had instead continued living the life she had from her New Past. As Santi had said, after the point of origin, the day of the Change, the original timeline didn't continue existing.

Narcissa shook her head, feeling dazed by the entangled loops her thoughts started to form the more she thought of it. Regardless, ultimately, it didn't matter to her.

There was one Dark Lord now, one Grey Wizard and one Abraxas. Furthermore, for the whole world except a very few, there was only one Past. Her Old Past meant nothing, just residue, remnants of a timeline which was no more.

However, if she hadn't had two sets of memories she would have never arrived to such conclusions, the possibility would have never even entered her mind. Just what had been Abraxas' purpose by making Lucius do that ritual on them? And it was risky for the Dark Lord to have allowed such thing; to have people who could remember both pasts. It didn't make sense-

Narcissa snapped her eyes open and pierced The Thing with her gaze. "I was from the original timeline, was I not?"

Santi simply nodded, and Narcissa remembered those two Death Eaters who had disappeared, along with others – those who had existed in the Old Past and no longer did in the New Past, and the reverse, those who now did.

She bore her eyes into The Thing's, and murmured as the realization slowly unfolded in her mind, "All of we who underwent the ritual are from the original timeline and were spared the risk of ceasing to exist the day of the Change – the origin, as you call it. Abraxas ensured his family would survive, and those families allied to the Malfoys."

"Yes," said Santi nonchalantly. "There was always a slight risk. But you were spared, as you say, and you and your counterpart were 'merged', to call it something-"

"Which is why I have two sets of memories," whispered Narcissa to herself. "Yet I also remain myself, living the life I had from the New Past."

"Since that day, you are living in the timeline which was created, the only timeline which now exists."

Narcissa nodded in understanding and then demanded curtly, "Who created it? Who time-travelled? The Dark Lord?"

"You already know the answer to that if you bother to think about it," replied Santi tersely. "You are afraid to arrive to the right conclusion, to realize who your son is."

Narcissa instantly became riled up and she hissed out, "Do not dare speak to me in that condescending manner-"

"Enough is enough, Mrs. Malfoy," interrupted her The Thing, looking vexed and impatient. "It's time to face the music. Tell me whom I was referring to by 'they'. Remember what happened that day."

Narcissa nearly sprung up to her feet to demand that The Thing immediately left her home. Restraining herself from the impulse, she took a sharp intake of breath. "Very well."

The day she had given birth to Antares she had known beforehand that no healers would be allowed; only Hetty, the old house-elf who had been a nursemaid and midwife during many Malfoy generations, and Severus Snape in his quality as a Potions Master to administer the pertinent potions to her, to ease the procedure. She hadn't been at all happy about it, yet what she hadn't expected was for Lord Slytherin and the Grey Wizard to be present as well. But she had swallowed her modesty and protests and had planned to bear it impassively.

Everything had gone smoothly, with Hetty and Severus down there, until with a last push, Antares had started to emerge from her. Then it had all seemed to distort into a hellish nightmare.

The moment half of her baby's body was already out, the Grey Wizard had stepped forward, raising both hands; in one, his wand, on the other, the ring he always wore. But in that occasion, as he enchanted something in a language she didn't recognize, the dull black stone of the ring had shone with something from within; some sort of small design made of thin silver lines, a triangle with some other geometrical figures inside.

Narcissa hadn't been able to take a good look and it hadn't seemed familiar. Moreover, she had been rather preoccupied when some sort of magical link had formed between the wizard's wand and ring. Then, the man's hood had dropped and she had shrieked.

She had seen a horribly disfigured face, as if some sort of wild animal had repeatedly slashed at it with its claws, with a gruesomely empty left eye socket. She had been further terrified when she had recognized the man's right eye.

In all textbooks of modern wizarding history, in both Old and New Past, along with a picture of a handsome blond man, there had always been the description of the wizard's unique eyes. Gellert Grindelwald was always said to have remarkable hawk-like eyes.

It had been then when she had known that Grindelwald hadn't simply disappeared in 1945 of the New Past, presumed by everyone to be dead. She had further understood why, in the New Past, the Dark Lord's mark wasn't that of the skull and snake, like in the Old, but that of a serpent coiling around a hawk.

It had been then when she had comprehended that one Dark Lord had taught the other, mentor and pupil, and that Abraxas and Lord Slytherin hadn't been alone during all those years in which they hadn't been in England.

All of those realizations struck her in the blink of an eye. And in the next second, something had sprouted from the link between Grindelwald's ring and wand, the wizard directing it: enormous claw-like black fingers which had plunged into the locket she had been wearing.

They pulled what had been within, something that wailed and screamed until it was floating a feet above her, encompassed in some kind of magical cage: a ghostly figure, a boy, a teen it seemed to her, yet his form was frayed, as if rats had been savagely gnawing him.

She now knew why. Filaments of soul had been leaking from the locket to the life she carried during those months of her pregnancy, Santi had said. But he had been mistaken in one thing. It hadn't spared the soul trauma.

Those screams and wails she had thought she heard coming from the locket, those nights she awoke, thinking she had imagined it, they weren't just screams for release, there were of pain as well.

Furthermore, that figure, then, had had a wide, uneven hole in his left side, as if something had long ago been ripped from it.

It had screamed and flailed, and Narcissa hadn't been able to understand. The boy had seemed to switch from German to English and back, shouting frantically, desperately or enraged at turns, at Grindelwald and Lord Slytherin. She had heard both of them saying things in return, attempting to soothe him, she presumed, but she wasn't certain.

Between the pain, the confusion, the shock, and horror, Narcissa had been in no condition to grasp everything.

Lord Slytherin had then stepped up, carrying a bejeweled goblet of some kind in his hands, weaving his own wand in the air, and something in the goblet, a small frayed figure, had sprouted out.

It was grey and torn, with no discernable shape, but then it had flown towards the ghostly figure of the boy, still entrapped in the magical cage-like prison. And it had stuck to him, like a leech, at the left side of the boy, where the hole had been.

Narcissa had been in hysterics by then, her own screams demanding an explanation ignored. Her shrieks had worsen when the black, claw-like fingers which emanated from Grindelwald's ring and wand had struck her newborn baby, who by then was in Severus' arms.

They pulled out something so small and so bright; something which was snuffed out in the next moment, inside the black fingers that had formed a tight fist around it. All that was left behind were floating swirls.

She had screamed in horror, terrified and desperate. She had sprung, or attempted to, from her bed, feeling her own magic about to lash out, to protect, to stop what was being done.

"Severus, restrain her!" had commanded the Dark Lord.

In the next instant, she had found herself flat on her bed without able to move or speak, with her magic painfully and forcibly restrained by whatever spell had been cast.

She had observed with eyes that leaked tears of impotence, and rage, and terror, how the ghostly figure of the boy was released and then grabbed by those black hands which pulled him towards the floating swirls. How the swirls gently and softly became attached to him, completing him, making him no longer look frayed and gnawed.

They were back where they belonged, she knew now. And then, the boyish ghostly figure which had never stopped attempting to get free and had never stopped shouting and screaming with heart-wrenching suffering, had been plunged into her baby.

There was nothing but near silence after that, just the soft wail of Antares.

"Give her the potion."

As the Dark Lord and the Grey Wizard started to quietly talk between them, with Hetty now carrying and taking care of Antares, Severus had leaned over her bedside with a flask in hand.

Her vision had been blurry, but indeed, as Santi had said, there had been a switch. So quickly did Severus covertly pluck another flask from his robes, leaning forward over her as he whispered into her ear, "It's important you remember."

And he had feed her that potion and stowed away the other.

Narcissa snapped out of the recollection with her heart still pounding hard in her chest. She took a deep intake of breath to compose herself, and slowly glanced at Santi.

"Whose soul was it? Who was my son in the past?"

The Thing shot her a gauging gaze with those eerie eyes of his, and then intoned calmly, "You do consider him your son, then? Even though you know-"

"That Slytherin and Grindelwald killed the soul Antares was conceived with and swapped it for another?" she interjected coolly, arching a delicate eyebrow at him. "He's still my son. And those bits of soul, those swirls, were from the soul in the locket. They were part of Antares nearly from the start." She slightly shook her head, and added quietly, "He's my son. A Black through and through."

"I'm glad you think so. I wasn't sure if you would," said Santi, shooting her a pleased, warm smile.

"Who was he?" demanded Narcissa curtly, spearing him with her eyes.

"He was the one who was made to time-travel in the day of the origin, a few hours before you conceived Antares." At Narcissa's puzzled expression, The Thing added quietly, "Mrs. Malfoy, you already know, you must simply admit it to yourself. What did both Dark Lords do that day? Lord Voldemort and Lord Slytherin had different reasons for it, but they killed them all the same, and their baby-"

"The Potters," she choked out faintly.

In the next second she had sprung to her feet, her chair tumbling to a side, and she quickly reached the large windows of the nursery, displaying the lovely view of one of Malfoy Manor's most gorgeous gardens with a charming pond in their midst.

Turning her face away, so that her expression wouldn't be seen by The Thing, she fisted her hands into the silky material of her dress, her knuckles turning white with the tightness of her grip. Crushing devastation, horror, and revulsion were engulfing her.

Only one thing came out of her paling lips, "He's the mudblood's spawn."

A noise reached her ears, sounding angered and irritated, and Narcissa swiftly swiveled around to stare at The Thing. It was quite interesting, she thought detachedly, to see an expression of rage in a face that was translucent and glowed in golden sparks.

"You just said he was a Black through and through," said Santi thunderously, skewering her with those eerie, milky white eyes of his. "And what is a pureblood by definition-"

"Do not presume to lecture me-"

"- only blood matters to your kind. The soul has nothing to do with being a pureblood. Two seconds ago you didn't care about the soul-issue," continued The Thing sternly. "His blood hasn't changed. And who conceived him? What is he?"

"He's a Black and a Malfoy, you overbearing  _creature_ ," Narcissa snapped acidly, her eyes narrowed with anger and irritation of her own. "Yes, I do see your point."

Santi pierced her with his gaze and said curtly, "Tell me now if you want him or not. I don't want to come back here to see he's been dumped in a muggle orphanage or something of the sort. I rather take him myself and place him with some other family-"

"Muggle orphanage?" she hissed out, swiftly moving to stand by the cradle. "I would never do something so despicable." Her eyes narrowed to slits. "And you will not be taking him anywhere at all."

The Thing paused, narrowing his own eyes, and then demanded, "Is he your son or not?"

Narcissa's temper flared, but she simply replied tersely, "Yes."

Santi gauged her again. "Do you think Antares would be a 'Black through and through', as you say, if it wasn't for the soul he has now? That he would be a Metamorphagi since birth, already able to do shifts at one-month of age, or that he would be as powerful as he is now? Do you think the Dark Lord would have bothered transferring some of his dark magic to him if he wasn't Harry Potter? Or that he would have enabled you to conceive a second son if it wasn't for that as well?"

"I already said I understood," interjected Narcissa sharply. Her eyes slightly narrowed again, but now in interest. "Why?"

Santi stared at her. "Why what?"

"Why," said Narcissa tartly, "did the Dark Lord put Harry Potter's soul in Antares, and why give him his magic? Why does Harry Potter matter to the Dark Lord? And why are you interested in him as well?"

"I will only answer the latter, since you have no need to know the answers to the first questions," replied The Thing loftily. He sighed and then continued, "It took me a while to find him in the past. You see, he and I are two of a kind - the only ones to have ever existed, as far as I know. You can think of me as his guardian of sorts-"

"Guardian?" she said, her voice laced with snide, addressing the first of many questions which had popped in her mind. "You certainly did not protect him from-"

The Thing raised a hand to halt her. "I will only take action if I have absolutely no other choice. And I hope it will never come to that." He shot her a glance and then said nonchalantly, "Speaking of which, have you kept the glass sphere?"

Narcissa had her wand directly aimed at him in the very next second, as she hissed out, "You work for Dumbledore."

Indeed, two weeks ago she had found a letter inside one of the drawers of her dressing table, penned and signed by Albus Dumbledore, and with a plain, small glass sphere inside the envelope – a portkey.

She hadn't failed to notice that she had found it the same day Severus Snape had paid a visit to leave some potions with her, for her recovery after giving birth.

Severus wasn't being very covert or subtle.

There had always been suspicions and rumors regarding the wizard's true allegiances. That the wizard had not given her the potion requested by Lord Slytherin to make her forget had also made her question Severus' loyalties. And now… well, it was no secret that the wizard had been infatuated with Lily Evans.

Had Severus helped her for Antares' sake? Did he know her son possessed the soul of Harry Potter and thus, due to his feelings for Lily Potter, felt obliged to protect Antares?

She didn't know, but she hadn't been pleased to find a letter from the old coot. Narcissa still didn't know why she hadn't shown it to Lucius.

"I'm no one's partisan. If anything, I'm on his side," said The Thing as he gestured towards the cradle. "I simply wish to suggest that you keep the portkey. You just might need to use it in the future." He speared her with an intense gaze, and added quietly, "Slytherin and Grindelwald aren't through with him. They will want to use Antares again."

Narcissa opened her mouth to speak, a barrage of questions swirling in her mind, but Santi snapped his head around and said urgently, "He's coming." He shot her a glance and added quickly, "Remember, sing the lullaby to Antares every day during the next three months. That should do the trick."

And with that, he simply disappeared, as if he had never been there in the first place.

"You are being greatly missed by your guests, Narcissa," said a smooth voice.

She almost tripped on the trail of her own dress when she jerkily turned around, startled. But she instantly dropped her gaze, masking the motion as a show of deference and awe, just so that she wouldn't meet Lord Slytherin's gaze.

She had much to conceal now and she had no doubt that she would be instantly killed for knowing what she did. It was never prudent to know much of the affairs of a Dark Lord. She would need to master Occlumency as soon as possible.

From the corner of her eyes she saw that Abraxas and the Grey Wizard had accompanied the man, and she turned her gaze towards Abraxas, the safer destination.

"I apologize, My Lord," she intoned quietly. "Antares was quite restless and it took me some time to get him to sleep."

"Such a commendable mother…" murmured the Dark Lord, as he halted before Antares' cradle.

When she saw the wizard leaning forward to trail a finger along Antares' ruddy cheek, she had the abrupt impulse to savagely slap the digit away. Instead, Narcissa stood rooted in her place, with all the impassiveness and elegance in the world.

The Dark Lord clucked his tongue, in disappointment it would seem. Perhaps he had been expecting Antares to wake up. Slight chance of that, not when the baby was surely still under the effects of the lullaby.

"I will expect you to return to the gathering shortly," was all the Dark Lord said as he swept out of the room, taking the two others with him.

Narcissa allowed an exhalation of breath to escape from her lips and then stood uncertainly by the cradle's side. In the next moment she made up her mind and gently picked up a snoozing Antares, taking a seat on a rocking chair at one corner of the room, which offered her the view of the gardens.

Antares' eyes slightly parted open, drowsily, surely due to having been moved around. And Narcissa gazed down at them, taking notice of their color. She knew now like whose eyes they were: the mudblood's, Lily Potter's.

She would have to learn how to love that shade of green again.

And with that thought, she started to softly sing the lullaby.


	11. Part I: Chapter 10

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks everyone for your reviews! I'm very glad that you enjoyed last chapter, and that it didn't confuse you so much, it was very hard and tricky to write, lol! ^^

To just clear up matters, we are still going to see much of Harry's life in the past as Tom Riddle's twin. That is Part I of the fic.

As you can see Part II refers to his future, to his life as Antares Malfoy. I wanted the first chapter of Part II to come after Ancleto's explanation of time-travelling so that we could see how it happened in practice and so that we understood what happened on the very first chapter of this fic.

We won't be seeing any other explanations regarding time-travelling after this. We have what Anacleto explained, the theory of it, and we have how it was conducted in practice, through Narcissa's experiences and what she figured out.

Regarding the first chapter of this fic, it was October 31, 1981, when the Potters were killed and when baby Harry was made to time-travel, with Dumbledore and Hagrid abruptly recognizing him as Harry Riddle in those few seconds. As Anacleto explained, on the day of origin, the secondary timeline merges with the original timeline, that's why Dumbledore and Hagrid recognized baby Harry as Harry Riddle because of the scar mostly, and then the time-travelling happened and people's minds were altered to only remember their lives in the secondary timeline.

A few hours after that, Antares was conceived and Narcissa started wearing the locket with Harry's soul, leaking bits of it into the life she carried, and thus the 'anchor' Anacleto spoke about was fixed and continued existing. Thus, the secondary timeline remained and the original one –canon– disappeared.

Narcissa figured out one of the things Anacleto spoke about, that the secondary timeline had to be made to be similar to the original timeline in the years and months before the point of origin, so that the intersection could happen.

That is why 'Lord Slytherin' conducted the same raids as Lord Voldemort, as if he was merely going through the motions, and that's why he had to kill Harry's parents. It is also why Abraxas and Grindelwald had been using portals to visit the original timeline. Grindelwald, the 'Grey Wizard', in order to visit Lord Voldemort and ensure the man would kill the Potters and would be killed by baby Harry in return, unwittingly making him a horcrux and so on. Abraxas so that he could visit Lucius and give him his pensieve with his memories of Harry Riddle and much more, with a grimoire with the ritual Lucius had to use on his family and those close to the Malfoys, to ensure that they would all survive the transition/merging on the day of origin, the transition from original timeline to secondary timeline.

Lord Slytherin might have also used a portal to visit the original timeline, though if he did, we won't know what he had been doing in those instances until much later.

We can also infer that Grindelwald used the ritual on himself as well, since he also existed in the original timeline, imprisoned in Nurmengard. Abraxas had no need of that since in the original timeline he had died long ago from dragon pox. Lord Slytherin must have used the ritual on himself as well, since even though his counterpart in the original timeline, Lord Voldemort, was killed by baby Harry, Voldemort's 'master' soul wasn't killed because Voldemort had horcruxes. Thus Tom had to use the ritual to solve the problem and ensure that he, Lord Slytherin, would be the one who survived the intersection of the timelines that day.

Obviously, Lord Slytherin – Marvolo Slytherin- is what Tom Riddle will become – the Tom Riddle we have been seeing in Part I of the fic.

Narcissa's Old Past was canon, the original timeline, and her New Past is the secondary timeline Harry produced with his mere presence in the past.

Since the transfer of his soul was done successfully and his soul will be further rooted after Santi told Narcissa how to do it, all that remains is the New Past. After the day of origin, Lord Slytherin already started making all the changes in the wizarding world he had been waiting so long to do.

The soul in the locket was that of Harry Riddle, since as we now know he was purposely killed in the past. We don't need to worry about this at present, what happened will be explained much further ahead in the fic, by the time that Part I ends.

Regarding Dumbledore, given the letter he wrote to Narcissa, including a portkey, and given what Snape did during Antares' birth, we can correctly assume that Dumbledore managed to keep his two sets of memories and knows exactly what's going on and what Lord Slytherin's and Grindelwald's plans are, to some extent.

Regarding Snape, Sirius, Regulus, and Remus and Pettigrew if they still exist, as well as those light families that fled with Dumbledore, the Weasleys and Longbottoms foremost, we'll find out about them much, much later in Part II.

I don't know if I will be putting other Part II chapters interspersed here and there as the fic continues with Part I. If I do, it will only be briefly since from now on we will continue with Harry Riddle's life in the past.

So on we go - Cheers!

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**Part I: Chapter 10**

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"Harry – Harry! Why are you gaping like a dim-witted idiot? What's the matter with you?"

Eleven-year-old Harry blinked, feeling a bit dazed, still hearing the end of Alice's lullaby ringing in his ears, intoned in a soft, cultured voice he had never heard before, and his eyes still prickling with the afterimage he had seen seconds ago; the face of the most beautiful woman he had ever beheld, with a halo of pretty blonde hair and clear blue eyes, looking like an ethereal angel.

Harry blinked again, wondering if the fumes from the Apothecary they had visited previously to get potion ingredients had made him have a hallucination of some sort.

Finally, he shook his head, clearing it from the strange residues, and stared at his brother. Tom was darkly scowling at him, looking vastly annoyed, with a hideous creature perched on his shoulder.

"What?" Harry croaked out, as he rubbed his forehead. Then he gazed at his surroundings, finally remembering that they were in the Magical Menagerie.

Even after having spent nearly three hours in Diagon Alley, he still felt he was in some bizarre version of fairytale-land.

That day, early in the morning as he had planned with Tom, Harry had faked a terrible stomachache. Moaning and making his eyes go all teary and with a heart-wrenchingly pathetic expression on his face, he had convinced Alice that he had been too indisposed to go to the seaside trip. After Tom had play-acted his part as the concerned brother, promising Alice to take care of him, a worried and hesitant Alice had finally agreed to leave them behind, under the care of Magda – one of the two young girls who had replaced Mr. Jenkins.

It had been unsurprisingly easy to sneak out of the orphanage. The moment Tom had spied that Magda had been entertaining herself in the kitchen, covertly reading a magazine about the lifestyle of the rich and their scandals, Harry had jumped out of his sickbed, already dressed under the covers.

In a few minutes both of them were already taking a double-decker bus into central London. With the leather pouches and the letters Mr. Dumbledore had given them, and after ascertaining that the address of the alley that led to the 'Leaky Cauldron' pub was in the meatpacking district, they had finally arrived at the site after taking a second bus trip.

That had been when things had started to turn strange, or 'magical', as was the case.

There had been butcher shops and warehouses, and workers unloading crates and mobilizing the carcasses of skewered cows and pigs. And yet, none of the people coming and going had seemed to even see the strange sign hanging from one of the shops; that of a figure in black, with a pointy hat, with a ladle in hand, stirring the contents of some huge pot – which was called a 'cauldron', Harry would later learn.

So Tom and Harry had stared at the sign in bemusement, and then Harry had excitedly grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him inside.

Their first encounter with the 'Magical World' hadn't been at all what they had expected.

Certainly, neither of them had expected that the place would be dusty, nearly outright dirty and gloomy, with half of the people looking dodgy and dangerous, as if they would just as soon kill you as look at you, and the other half looking posh and snobby, in their own bizarre way.

There were women, old and young, wearing the strangest hats with desiccated vultures and the likes, with fur coats which still had the animal's head, with the eyes moving and their tails wagging, or with wide-hipped dresses that looked from another century, or with a motley arrangement of clothes which didn't match in pattern, style or date.

The men were just as bad, with tunic-like dresses which Harry would later learn were called robes -and which he himself was expected to wear, according to the list in his letter- or wearing doublets and tights, with pointy hats, turbans, or felt top hats.

And all of them waving their sticks at the littlest things, making fantastical but also trivial things happen, like moving a chair, lift a cup, light a candle, and the sort.

It wasn't at all what Harry had expected –none of it was like the worlds depicted in Alice's fairytales– but he had loved it, all the more because it was indeed crude and coarse.

However, he had taken one look at his brother and had seen Tom gazing at his surroundings with his lips curled in disgust and contempt. Tom had expected perfection, Harry knew, and the gritty reality of it must have been a harsh disappointment.

Nevertheless, they had found Tom the bartender, as Mr. Dumbledore had told them, and soon they had been shown the way into Diagon Alley. Both Harry and Tom had stared with excited amazement when the man had tapped the wall with his stick and had made the bricks fold themselves to the sides, opening a passageway into a winding, cobblestoned street.

Diagon Alley had been bustling with activity, and Harry had gawked and gaped at the shops, attempting to not even blink so that he wouldn't miss anything.

The stores stood at impossible odd angles, some looking as if ready to teeter over, displaying their wonderful merchandise with colorful banners, floating and swirling advertisements and animated signs, showing things Harry had never seen before, like telescopes, whizzing silver instruments of unknown function, barrels of strange innards like bat spleens and eels' eyes, piles of spell books, crates of potion bottles, astronomical maps and charts and globes of planets, rolls of parchments, and the like.

He had even seen a shop called Terrortours, advertising that they offered 'action holidays for the wizard with a sense of adventure!', giving discounts for a Transylvanian castle for rent with 'a blood-thirsty vampire for a host!', a trip down the Zombie Trail where you came 'face to face with the living dead!', and a cruise to the Bermuda Triangle, with 'your safe return not guaranteed!'.

Harry's eyes had gone as wide as moons in giddy excitement, and he had quickly opened his leather pouch and counted the golden coins within, hoping that the so-called 'galleons' would amount to enough, to just see if he could perhaps embark on some of those adventures.

He had been crushed when he had seen he didn't have nearly enough, but his spirits had risen again after he had kept meandering along Diagon Alley, absorbing everything with his eyes.

Tom hadn't seemed too impressed by any of it and had soon cut short Harry's fun. Ever the practical one, Tom had analyzed the list of items they had to buy according to their letters and had pulled Harry along with him in a round of shopping for the only things that were basic and necessary.

First, they had gone to a junk shop, buying two second-hand trunks, and Tom had so effectively and thoroughly charmed the shopkeeper that the old woman had given them a fifty-percent discount, had waved her stick at the trunks making them look brand new and had even done something to make them weightless. Then they had gone to Scribbulus Everchanging Inks, where they had bought parchments, quills, and ink bottles.

In Monsieur Ermenegilde Aurélien Jean-Baptiste Célestin's Haute Robes, they had bought one set of first-rate black robes and pants for each of them. Tom had insisted that they had to have at least one set of good-quality clothes.

"No one needs to know we're as poor as church mice. The impression you make with your appearance is everything," Tom had hissed out sharply when Harry had been complaining about the expenditure. Really, spending bunches of gold coins in posh clothes was not Harry's idea of 'buying the basics'.

Thankfully, Tom had agreed to buy the rest of their clothing, such as shirts and other items that wouldn't be seen under their robes, in the second-hand clothes shop.

In Flourish & Blotts they had nearly spent two hours perusing the bizarre books that sighed or screamed when opened, or wiggled and moved around, or even abruptly popped out eyes, sprung fangs or sprouted tentacles.

Harry had practically needed to drag Tom away from the bookstore in the end. Though moments before, when they had finally simply bought the required textbooks mentioned in their letters, Harry had wanted to make a concession after seeing Tom's resentful and embittered expression when counting the galleons they had left, his brother's dark blue eyes still lingering with want and longing on the rows of shelves.

"Perhaps," had whispered Harry, turning his gaze this way and that to make sure he wasn't being overheard, "we could do our little play-acting. You know, what we do when Alice takes us out to commercial London."

One of Tom's eyebrows had quirked upwards and he had piercingly stared at Harry, gauging the seriousness of his offer. Indeed, as the years passed and they got older, Harry had become more and more reluctant to keep nicking stuff from stores; not because he thought it was wrong since he no longer felt it was that bad, but rather because he thought that the older they got, the higher the chances it would stop working and someone would catch them red-handed.

Tom had seemed to gravely consider the matter, but at last had shaken his head. "It's too risky in this case. We don't know what kind of... magical-" he had said, hesitating in employing that word which still felt foreign and otherworldly to them "- security measures they have." He had then pulled himself to his full height, still a head taller than Harry, to Harry's misfortune, and had whispered with self-satisfaction, "After we know more about this world, we'll start doing it."

Harry had been a bit alarmed at that. He had intended his offer to be a one-time thing. But before he could protest, Tom had dragged him to their next stop.

They had gone to the cauldron shop and then to Slug & Jiggers Apothecary, since apparently they required slimy innards, herbs, powders, fangs, eyeballs, feathers, and claws, for a class simply called 'Potions'.

And finally they were in a very crowded pet store, amidst cages with enormous purple toads, gigantic tortoises with jewel-encrusted shells, poisonous orange snails, rabbits that changed into top hats and back, cats of every size and color, noisy ravens and colorful and exotic birds – Harry had even seen a peacock strutting about– custard-colored furballs, and even sleek, black rats which were apparently highly intelligent and could be taught how to dance a jig and play fetch.

Tom was by now skewering him with narrowed eyes, his scowl having turned into a frown; not a worried one but rather irritated and impatient.

"I said that I'm taking him," snapped Tom shortly, gesturing at the thing on his shoulder. "I'll call him Lord Horkos. What do you think?"

Harry blinked, and then blurted out incredulously, "Lord what?"

"Horkos," repeated Tom with short-tempered annoyance. "He was a powerful wizard in the Middle Ages, apparently. I read that in a book in Flourish and-"

"Right," interrupted Harry as he shook his head. Then he warily peered at the creature. "But what  _is_  it?"

"An owl, obviously," gritted out Tom testily.

"That's not an owl," opined Harry with utter conviction, as he pointed a finger at the creature, though careful that his digit wasn't in biting range. Its red eyes were even now piercing him with a vicious glint in them, as if the thing was about to spring forward to take a chunk of him. "It looks more like a ruddy vulture to me. A very nasty one, at that."

"That's why I'm taking him," remarked Tom smugly, and with that, he spun around and strutted towards the counter.

Harry remained standing in place for a moment and then lurched forwards, trailing after Tom as he complained with a whine, "But then what pet do I buy?"

"You can only get a cat or a toad now, since I already got an owl," stated Tom over his shoulder, without bothering to look back at him. "Just choose a stupid kitten and be done with it."

"I don't want a bloody  _kitten_ ," snapped Harry, irked beyond measure. Then he huffed and added in a sensible tone of voice, "Besides, snakes and kittens don't get along. Remember when Nagini ate the neighbor's cat? And she'll eat a toad as well-"

Tom swirled around to pierce him with his eyes, and interjected sharply, "What does Nagini have to do with it?" In the next second, his eyes narrowed to slits. "You are  _not_  taking Nagini to school."

Harry abruptly halted in his tracks and gaped at him. "What-? Of course I'm taking her!"

"It says we can only bring a cat, an owl, or a toad," hissed out Tom, plucking out his letter to wave it in front of Harry's nose. "It doesn't say 'please bring dangerous, mortally lethal snakes into our school filled with little children', does it?"

"Nagini isn't dangerous-" started Harry, feeling quite indignant in her behalf.

"You little idiot," snapped Tom as he stood to tower over Harry. "She's not dangerous to us, but she is to the rest of people-"

"Since when do you care about other people?" gritted out Harry through clenched teeth, as he glared up at his brother. "And since when are you a stickler for rules-"

"I care when it means that I could get expelled," retorted Tom, his tone of voice turning poignant as he looked down at Harry as if he was beholding a brainless slug writhing under the sole of his shoe. "And I'm not getting expelled from magic school before knowing if it's worth my while or not."

With his jaw tightening, Harry stared at him. Then he crossed his arms over his small chest and finally huffed out, "Well, I'm not going to be the one to tell her that we're leaving her behind. She'll bite me if I tell her, you know she will."

Tom let out a scoff of snide and contempt, and then said in a taunting and derisive tone of voice, "Is little, bitty Harry scawed of the tiny, bitty snakey?"

Harry's hot temper flared, but then he simply glared daggers at him and piped in a mocking tone of voice of his own, "If you are sooo brave, you tell her. You're her maaaster after all, aren't you?"

Tom hesitated for a moment; Harry was quick to catch that – Ha! He had always known that he couldn't be the only one who was wary of Nagini's temper.

"Fine. I will," bit out Tom at last, to then swirl around and finally reach the store's counter.

The shopkeeper of the Magical Menagerie, a doddering old man who seemed quite batty and partly deaf, looked mightily happy that Tom was taking the 'vulture' off his hands. The old man even threw in a few owl-biscuits for free after selling a cage to Tom, and then tried to unsuccessfully persuade him to buy a tonic for foul-tempered owls.

Furthermore, the man looked very cheerful at the galleons Tom handed over in payment for 'Lord Horkos' – the nasty thing was even overpriced, at that. Harry still didn't see the sense in spending so much just to have an intimidating and threatening-looking bird.

And while the old shopkeeper went on to explain how to take care of the owl – apparently not much had to be done since the creature hunted for food himself and only required a very neat cage, it seemed the owl was very supercilious about cleanness, Tom and he would get along famously – his brother took the opportunity to whisper demandingly.

"Are you getting a pet or not?"

"No," grumbled Harry peevishly, as he leaned against the counter and gazed around the shop with disinterest, indeed finding nothing that caught his attention.

With supreme indifference of his own at Harry's dissatisfied pouting and pigheaded stubbornness, Tom went back to continue listening to the deaf old man who yelled rather than spoke.

They finally left the shop, dragging their stuffed but weightless trunks, with Tom looking extremely smug with his purchase and carrying the cage as if the creature within was the most precious thing in the world. Meanwhile, Lord Horkos was simply perched inside, ignoring everything and everyone around, having simply stuck his ugly head under one oversized, black wing.

The creature had already savagely gobbled down all the biscuits, and that seemed to drowsily satisfy him for the moment. Though given the bird's size and thus food-intake requirements, Harry didn't think Lord Horkos would remain peaceful for long.

But that was Tom's problem, Harry thought happily, and he would enjoy seeing how his brother would attempt to explain Lord Horkos to Alice, and especially to Kathy. Oh yes, Mrs. Cole would do some yelling that night.

Vastly cheered up, Harry grinned to himself and then plucked out his letter, mentally ticking off all the things they had already bought, and then mused out loud, "We only need to get our sticks, and we're done."

"They're called wands," corrected Tom sharply, turning around to darkly glare down at him. "Start using the proper terms. I don't want you going around talking like a muggle." His eyes narrowed to dark blue slits, as he added threateningly, "It would reflect badly on me and I will not have it."

"Of course, brother dearest," intoned Harry in deceptively dulcet tones, suppressing a roll of his eyes. Then he took another peek at the letter. "It suggests here that we go to Ollivander's. Do you see it?"

"Let's try that way," said Tom as he jerked his chin to the right, his hands already occupied with trunk and cage.

They soon reached the end of the street, without having met the wandshop –clearly they had gone in the wrong direction- but before Tom could turn around, Harry grabbed him by the arm as he pointed to the building before them.

It had crooked stone columns that made it look as if it was about to collapse. Indeed, all its angles seemed simply wrong and impossible, and it had an enormous set of doors which seemed to be made of solid gold, with words running along its frame – a warning of some sort. But that hadn't caught his attention, nor the scary-looking creatures that seemed to be guarding the entrance nor the lavish marble floors rimmed with gold that he could see through the parted doorway. What had, was its name; the letters etched in stone above the doors.

"Look, it says it's a bank – Gringotts' Bank," muttered Harry, without peeling his gaze away from it.

Tom shot a glance at the building and then said indifferently, "So?"

Harry snapped his head around to stare up at him. "Banks have a lot of information, right? And we know our dad must be a wizard, so we could-"

Dropping his trunk on the ground, Tom held up a hand and said shortly, "What – ask them if our father has an account with them?" He let out a scathing scoff, looking down at him as if he was a brain-damaged simpleton. "Banks don't give away that sort of information and we don't even know his full name-"

"We know his first name, yours. And his last name, ours. Whether he has a middle name and what it is wouldn't make much difference," interrupted Harry stubbornly, his teeth then clenching together as he glared up at him. "I know you hate him and don't care. But I want to find him, and if they know…"

At Tom's hardening expression, Harry quickly changed tacks. He trailed off and then peered up at him with huge eyes, quickly blinking twice to make them watery and teary, even letting out a sniffle before he said very softly, "Tom… do it for me, please. I just want to try."

Harry saw his brother wavering and he had to bite his tongue to suppress a triumphant grin. He simply remained gazing up at Tom with an utterly heart-wrenching expression on his face.

"Alright," finally snapped Tom briskly, shooting him a vexed scowl as he grabbed the handle of his trunk and maneuvered Lord Horkos' cage to his other hand. "Let's go, then."

Harry smirked to himself and then towed his own trunk, though he nearly halted when the thought struck him that banks didn't allow children inside; at least not London's banks.

Though the next moment he saw a gaggle of teens planting themselves before the two guards, they had something in their hands, it must have been small since Harry couldn't see what it was. But the guards were clearly inspecting whatever it was, and only then allowed the teens to go through.

Nevertheless, arming himself with valor, he finally reached the two scary-looking creatures. They were just as short as he was, but they were very stout and seemed vicious, with nearly bald heads with a few scraggly hairs here and there, long, crooked and pointy noses, small beady eyes, jagged and sharp teeth, and with the longest and most knotted hands he had ever seen, the fingernails several inches long. They were even wearing chest-armors of some sort; the metalwork was quite intricate and beautiful.

"Er, Mr. -?" said Harry hesitantly, addressing the first guard.

However, the creature didn't offer any name. He simply stared down at him over his nose, and demanded sharply, "Key."

"Key?" repeated Harry dumbly, blinking in befuddlement. "Key of what?"

"Of the vault," said the creature in a bored tone of voice. At Harry's expression of incomprehension, he added briskly, "Of your vault or your family's vault. No key, no entrance."

"Vault?" muttered Harry, to then shoot a look of puzzlement at Tom. But then he shook his head and tried again, addressing the guard, "No, you see, we're here regarding our father's accou-"

"Our father's vault," interjected Tom quickly, swiftly taking a step forward as he covertly dug his elbow into Harry's ribs.

Finally, Harry quickly caught up with the situation and let out a chuckle as he slapped a hand on his forehead. "Yes, our father's vault! Heh, you see, I mean – our father, he's Mr. Riddle, you know, and he said that we didn't need the key to his vault. That if we gave you his name you could perhaps let us in-"

"No key, no entrance," interrupted the guard sharply.

Harry cleared his throat, and bravely made another attempt. He peered at the creature in the same way he had done with Tom moments ago. After all, if it worked on his brother who was the hardest nut to crack, then maybe it would work with the creatures too.

However, in the next moment it became evident that he was failing. The creature looked even more short-tempered than before, his small beady eyes narrowing with alert suspicion.

At last, with impatience, Harry dropped his trunk and took a step forward, his face inches away from the creature's, as he said candidly, "Mr. Guard, please, we only want to go inside to talk to one of the tellers. You see, our father has gone missing and we're very concerned. And perhaps our dad has been here. Perhaps one of the tellers has seen him – or even you! And perhaps the bank has his new address…" He trailed off and peered at him through his eyelashes as he said in a small, sad tone of voice, "I think he has abandoned us, or perhaps he hit his head and doesn't remember us, but maybe he told the bank where he lives, and we only want to write to him. He's called Riddle. We only want to ask-"

"No Riddle has or has ever had a vault in Gringotts," cut in the guard shortly, to then briskly gesture with one of his knotted hands as if to drive him away as if he were a noisome pest.

"Wait - what?" blurted out Harry. "What do you mean? How can you be sure?"

"I'm sure," replied the creature testily, "because we goblins know the name of every wizard and creature that is our client."

'Goblins?', Harry inwardly wondered for a brief second. Then he shook his head and pressed on vehemently, "Then maybe in some other bank-"

"Gringotts is the only wizarding bank in Europe," stated the guard gruffly, skewering him with narrowed eyes, critically trailing his gaze up and down Harry's figure.

Harry was certain the creature wasn't much impressed with him. Both he and Tom had dressed up with their best clothes, but even that wouldn't amount to much. He knew they must look like street urchins, with their cheap cotton shirts that were yellowish rather than white, their grey caps like those of newspaper boys, with their knee-length socks and short pants, and their frayed vests of brown wool, and even their leather shoes were worn; Harry's left shoe had several stitches missing and the sole flapped with every step he took.

"In Europe?" repeated Harry, frowning. "So if he-"

"If your father is living in some other continent," interrupted the guard with irritated vexation, "he could have a vault in some other bank."

"Or maybe he's dead," interjected Tom coolly as he took a step to stand besides Harry, piercing the creature with his eyes. "Maybe that's why he no longer has a vault here and why you don't remember-"

"If he had been our client in the past, we would still remember his name," snapped the guard dourly, "and if he's dead, the key to his vault would have returned to us and we would have sent it to his next of kin by blood. Apparently, we would have sent it to you, if this Mr. Riddle is truly your father."

"But – I don't understand," muttered Harry under his breath, a deep, alarmed frown on his face. "What does it mean, then-?"

"Thank you for your help," cut in Tom, his tone very polite as he then grabbed Harry by the wrist and pulled him away.

"But Tom, hang on, I-"

"Enough," hissed out Tom under his breath, as he managed to forcefully drag Harry along with him to where they had left their trunks and the cage. He dropped Harry's wrist and spun around to pierce him with his gaze, looking incensed and enraged. "I'm not wasting a single second more in finding out about the man who left our mother to give birth to us and die in an orphanage, and who never looked back-"

"But we already talked about that," interjected Harry stubbornly, "maybe he didn't know she had us, maybe he didn't know she was pregnant-"

"Then it means that she fled away from him!" snapped Tom irately. "And he didn't bother looking for her, did he? Or it would have possibly led him to St. Jerome's and no Mr. Riddle has come calling, has there?"

Harry adamantly shook his head. "But it could have been that-"

"There're no 'buts'," bit out Tom, clenching his jaw. "He's dead to me and that's the end of it." He skewered him with narrowed eyes and added in a low hiss, "I won't ever help you with this again. I won't discuss it again either. For all purposes, count me out."

And with that, in the next second, Tom's expression turned into an impassive one as he grabbed the cage and the handle of his trunk. "Now, let's go get our wands – it's the only thing of true value we're getting today, as far as I'm concerned." He shot a side-glance at his snoozing owl, and added with a smirk, "Besides Lord Horkos, of course."

"Of course," repeated Harry mockingly with a roll of his eyes, as he trailed after his brother with trunk in tow.

However, as they kept looking for the wandshop, they remained quiet. It was evident that their little quarrel had left neither of them too happy with the other.

"Perhaps it's that way," piped in Harry, at last breaking the tense silence which had reigned between them, as he gestured towards a sign – it said 'Knockturn Alley', with the depiction of a finger pointing towards the entrance to a very dark and narrow street.

Tom nodded and Harry started to follow him inside, though as he crossed the threshold, he suddenly saw words forming under the sign: 'Darklings, speak Dark Arts and see our true wares.'

"Did you see that?" murmured Harry, wondering what it could mean. But Tom didn't hear him, his brother was already several feet further ahead and Harry quickened his pace to reach him.

Instantly, he realized that going there hadn't been such a good idea. The alley kept narrowing and feeling more oppressive and dangerous with every step they took; he saw dodgy characters whispering among themselves and watching them with a mean glint in their eyes, he even saw a couple of hunched old women with humungous, ugly warts, and small beady eyes that observed them as if plotting what use they could make of their parts, one of them even crooned and crooked her withered finger, beckoning him.

"Um… perhaps we shouldn't be here," whispered Harry uncertainly, as he continued to uneasily glance at their surroundings – he even thought he saw a pair of orange eyes staring at them from the shadows.

However, Tom didn't pay attention to him. The boy appeared to feel quite comfortable and self-assured in the ambiance of the alley, as well as intrigued by the window displays. Though there wasn't much to look at; nearly all the shops lacked signs and seemed to be dirty and dark inside, with few items being shown in their displays.

Harry halted by Tom's side, who had stopped before a gloomy-looking store, albeit one that at least had a sign, which simply read 'Borgin & Burkes'.

Harry peered at the window display, only seeing what appeared to be the head of a mummy, given that it was a skull wrapped in bandages, and a frayed cushion on which laid a sharp dagger with dark red stains along the edges – what he surmised had to be dried blood.

"It doesn't have much," grumbled Tom with dissatisfaction. "None of these stores do."

Harry frowned, and then a thought struck him. "Perhaps that's what the words on the street sign meant."

Tom shot him a questioning glance and Harry started to elucidate, "A message appeared when…" Then he huffed and waved his hand briskly as he added, "Never mind, let me try and see…" He glanced back at the window display, and feeling a bit stupid, he simply mumbled without really knowing what it meant, "Dark Arts."

"Oh!" Harry gasped out in the next second, when the previously unoccupied space in the window display became cluttered with innumerable items. He then quickly glanced at the other nearby shops and saw that the same had happened there.

"What – what is it?" snapped Tom, looking irked and impatient.

"Say what I said," Harry intoned happily, as he started perusing the items with an interested gaze.

Tom shot him an irritated scowl. "What nonsense are you spouting-"

"Just do it," said Harry shortly as he threw at his brother a vexed glance.

"Fine," bit out Tom, looking as if the whole thing was a supreme waste of his time. "Dark Arts."

The next moment, Tom's eyebrows shot upwards as his gaze became riveted on the new items on the window display, and Harry chirped smugly, "See?"

Both then proceeded to gawk at all the weird stuff; many items had tags with short descriptions and their prices – many of which seemed astronomically high to Harry, after a whole day of shopping which had given him a sense of the value of galleons, knuts, and sickles.

One item in particular soon caught their attention, since it was the only one without a price, and its tag simply said: 'To place a bid, ask for Burke. If ye're not filthy rich, don't bother.'

"That must be the flashiest thing I've ever seen," Harry said with a chuckle, as he stared at the item in question: a heavy-looking and garish golden locket, with a serpentine S in glittering green gems inlaid on the front.

"I like the snaky S figure," remarked Tom loftily, gazing at it with an interested glint in his eyes. "And it looks expensive."

In the next second, Tom started to drag his trunk forward, with Lord Horkos' cage dangling from his other hand, as he said over his shoulder, "Let's take a look inside."

"Watch out!" was the only thing Harry had time to say, as a fat, short man lurched out from the shop, looking harassed and irritated, and collided with Tom, while a gruff and angry voice bellowed from inside the store.

"If ye want mor' galleons, bring me Bloodmoon Tentaculae next time, 'Orace!"

The stranger stumbled backwards as Tom bounced off the man's pudgy belly, Lord Horkos' cage flew up into the air, with the bird shrieking and flapping its enormous black wings in indignant anger. Harry managed to drop the handle of his own trunk swiftly, to grasp the cage with one hand while he used the other to grip Tom's arm to prevent his brother from tumbling heels over head over his trunk.

"Ufff!" let out the stranger after the collision, looking disheveled and caught unawares.

"What the bloody hell!" snapped Tom furiously, as he righted himself up, slapped Harry's helping hand away from him, and then shot a glower at the man. "Watch where you're going, you imbecile!"

The man started to mumble something, and then paused to blink down at them.

Harry stared back in bemusement at the man's protruding belly, the balding head, and the largest and bushiest moustache he had ever seen.

"What are you two boys doing here?" said the man with a frown. Then he became fidgety and nervous as he glanced around. "Where're your parents?"

"We don't have parents," bit out Tom, still angry as he continued to straighten out his clothes, "not that it's any of your damn business…"

Harry cleared his throat, and said, trying to assuage the situation, "We're looking for a wandshop. Ollivander's-"

"Oho!" exclaimed the man as he now gazed at them with interest. "You're about to start your first year at Hogwarts, then!" He let out a belly-laughter, and declared cheerfully, "Well, you're not going to find Ollivander's here." His expression then turned grave and reprimanding for a brief moment, as he added with a tut, "Knockturn Alley is no place for children. Come along now, I'll show you the way."

"We don't need an escort-" started to gripe Tom acerbically, but Harry cut him short with a "Thank you, sir!" and a beaming smile, since the old hags and dangerous-looking, dodgy wizards seemed to be lurking in the shadows waiting for them, and he thought that the presence of an adult was just the thing they needed.

Tom shot him a fulminating glare, but Harry simply ignored him as he pushed Lord Horkos' cage back to his brother and started to follow the portly, kind man through the twists and coils of the narrow, gloomy street.

The stranger didn't say much as they made their way; the man merely glanced to the sides, as if concerned that someone would jump out from the shadows and point an accusing finger at him, in recognition.

Finally, when they were about to reach the intersection with Diagon Alley, the man took a peek around the corner and declared happily, "The way is clear." Then he turned around and whispered conspiratorially as he winked at them, "Let's not tell anyone where we met, eh?"

At Tom and Harry's nonplussed expressions, the man then simply patted Harry on the shoulder and added congenially, "Ollivander's is the fifth shop to the right. I'll see you at the Sorting!"

"At the what?" said Harry in befuddlement, but the man had already left, surreptitiously slipping into Diagon Alley as if he had never set foot in Knockturn in the first place.

Tom merely let out a snide scoff. "Batty, old lardo."

And with that, he ploughed forward into Diagon Alley, with Harry at his heels.

Indeed, after weaving through the crowd, they found the wandshop precisely where the stranger had said. Before entering the store, Harry mouthed the words etched under the sign, in astonishment at the date: 'Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C'.

The shop was narrow, shabby and dusty, with many shelves behind the counter, with thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly right up to the ceiling. But there was also a strange feeling to the place, something that made Harry's skin tingle pleasantly and the back of his neck prickle.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice, as an old man appeared behind the counter, with glowing, pale eyes looking at them with interest. "I'm Ollivander. And who might you two be?"

"I'm Tom Riddle," said Tom coolly, inspecting the man with his own gaze and apparently finding him unimpressive. He then jabbed a thumb in Harry's direction. "He's my twin brother, Harry."

"Riddle… Riddle…" muttered the old man under his breath, as if trying to jolt his memory. In the next moment, he seemed to give up in his endeavor and gazed back at them in curiosity. "Twins, you say?"

Tom's eyes slightly narrowed, and he said tersely, "Yes."

"We're here to buy our wands," supplied Harry, quite unnecessarily but in order to help matters along, since the man seemed to be staring at them in some sort of analytical trance.

Mr. Ollivander blinked, seemingly pulled out from whatever musings, and then shot them a mild smile. "Of course you are. Finer wands than mine you will not find. Let's get to work, then."

And with that, the man snapped his fingers and soon, two measure-tapes sprung into existence, fluttering around Tom and Harry, spanning along their arms, hands, legs, and the full extent of their height, to then go around the length of their foreheads, while Ollivander took notes in a small piece of parchment.

In a couple of more minutes, several narrow boxes came flying from the shelves and Ollivander simply told them to "Give them a flick!"

The testing of wands seemed to go on for ages, though they were entertained as Ollivander went to explain the types of cores and woods, and the basics of wand-making, with Tom's mood vastly improving as he listened avidly, while Harry merely enjoyed the experience.

At last, with no winners in sight, Ollivander scratched his head, muttered something under his breath and then disappeared into the depths of shelves. Moments later, he came back with a couple of more boxes, presenting the first wand to Tom.

The moment Tom swished it, a fountain of silver specks exploded from the wand's tip, and Tom started down at it with wide, amazed eyes. In the next second, his expression turned giddy and possessive, while a wide, placid smirk spread on his face.

"Well, there you have it," said Ollivander, gazing at Tom with those creepy, moon-like eyes of his. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. With a core of phoenix feather. A very unique core." He paused to skewer Tom with an intense gaze, and then added quietly, "A powerful wand - very powerful."

Tom's head snapped up at that, his smirk widening with supremely smug self-satisfaction.

Ollivander cleared his throat, peeled his gaze away from Tom to then stare at Harry, with a musing expression on his face. Slowly, he presented a wand to Harry as he continued to fixedly gaze at him.

Harry gave it a casual flick, and then gasped as a stream of green and gold sparks shot out from the tip like a firework.

"Yes, how very interesting," whispered Ollivander, his creepy gaze flickering from Harry to Tom and back, briefly pausing on Harry's scarred forehead. "Eleven inches, made of holly. And it so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand's core gave only one other feather – for the wand that has chosen your companion. Both wands just as unique, just as powerful. You two boys have twin wands."

"Twin wands?" Harry shot him a beaming smile. "Well, it makes sense, doesn't it?" He nudged Tom with an elbow as he chuckled. "Twins for twins!"

Ollivander quirked up an eyebrow as he flung a glance at Tom, which was met with a narrowed-eyed, suspicious and then menacing stare from Tom, while the interaction was completely missed by Harry, who was too busy with the sensations coursing through his body as he held his wand; enfolding warmth, and a flow of something within him rolling through his body and into the wand and back, like pleasant, tingling waves going back and forth like tides, as if the wand belonged to him as an extension of himself. He nearly felt drunk with the feeling.

They left the shop after Ollivander had turned strangely quiet as they paid, as Harry bubbled excitedly about their wands.

"I'm going back to Flourish and Blotts," abruptly informed him Tom the moment they stepped back into Diagon Alley. "We still have time and perhaps I can persuade the clerk to give me another discount."

Harry merely rolled his eyes and huffed. "Well, I'm not spending my last couple of galleons in a book. I'll meet you there in half an hour."

Tom shot him an annoyed glance. "What are you going to do, then?"

"I'm gonna explore," piped in Harry, knowing exactly where to go.

In their first round of shopping he had briefly seen two stores which had caught his attention but which Tom hadn't allowed him to go into: Gambol & Japes, that seemingly sold a wide variety of tricks and practical joke items, and Quality Quidditch Supplies, which he was clueless about what they sold but had seen a flock of boys and even girls excitedly talking among themselves as they pressed their noses against the display window of the shop.

In the next second, Harry let go of the handle of his trunk, chirped "Take my trunk with you!" and then quickly fled from the scene before Tom could bellow at him.

Toothily grinning to himself, he first arrived at Quality Quidditch Supplies, and had to precariously stand on his tiptoes in order to attempt to see above the sea of heads of the children planted before the store.

Aggravated at his lack of height and thus lack of success, he was about to plough forward into the crowd with the use of jabbing out his elbows, when someone careened into him, grabbed him by the arms, turning him to a side and pulling him into the crowd of children, to then squat in front of him, holding him in place by gripping his wrists, as it squeaked, "Cover me!"

"What?" blurted out Harry in bewilderment, gazing down to see that it was a boy. But the boy wasn't even looking at him, but rather fixedly gazing at some point across the street.

"Hide me – from them!" the boy said urgently, releasing one of Harry's wrists to point out with a finger.

Nonplussed, Harry followed the direction with his gaze to see a group of people strolling down the street: two women with a bunch of children. The women had supercilious and superior-looking expressions on their faces, and the children, both girls and boys of varying ages, looked remarkably alike, all with black hair and similarly hued eyes. Furthermore, from the little that Harry had seen of wizarding fashion, they all looked to be richly and poshly dressed in dark colors, with only a smattering of silver or bronze here and there.

The group soon started to pass them by, and their conversation reached Harry's ears.

"… where has that unruly boy of yours gone to, Irma?" was saying one of the women, with a harsh and disapproving expression on her face. "Really, you should have a firmer hand with him."

The other woman looked pinched as she replied with a suffering tone of voice, "I have tried everything, Melania. Not even Pollux has managed to instill in him a sense of propriety and good conduct. We have even punished him by suspending his pegasus-riding classes, but it didn't work-"

"Oh, mother," snapped sharply a plain, mean-looking girl, "just kill his crup pup and be done with it. Alphie will learn not to disobey then."

"Your idea might be worthy of consideration, Walburga dear," said the woman with a pensive expression on her face.

"Of course it is," said the girl impatiently, to then add cajolingly, "You promised I could get a new gown from Monsieur Ermenegilde for the Averys' ball of this weekend-"

The girl's mother waved a hand dismissively. "Yes, yes, go and spend what you like. Your cousin Orion will escort you."

At that, a handsome boy, that looked a bit younger, paled significantly, while the girl gazed back at him with a victorious smirk and an infatuated glint in her eyes.

"You heard, Orion," said the other woman briskly, Melania, the boy's mother seemingly. "Take your sister Lucretia as well." She shot the pretty girl by her side a glance, as she added in a croon, "You could do with another gown yourself, dearest."

"Thank you, mother," piped in the beautiful girl in a sweet and polite tone of voice, and who was then rewarded by a pleased smile from her mother.

"Cygnus," then commanded Irma to the other boy left, who had a grave and serious expression on his face and looked quite disinterested with the proceedings. "You too, go with your sister and cousins. Melania and I will partake of tea in Leisure Alley. Don't bother us for a couple of hours. And if you find your brother, don't let him out of your sight again!"

And with that, the group scattered and their respective conversations faded away.

A loud, relieved exhalation of breath reached Harry's ears and he snapped his head around to see the boy rising to his feet. The boy had curly, black hair, grey eyes, and was just as short as him, Harry saw. Then the boy did a double-take as he looked at Harry, apparently truly seeing him for the first time since manhandling him.

In the next moment, the boy had jumped a step back, his grey eyes wide, as he stuttered, "You're a… a…"

"I'm a what?" Harry frowned at him, then dismissed the boy's stutters and huffed. "A 'thank you' would be nice, you know?"

The boy blinked at him. "Er…" He then trailed Harry's figure with his gaze, as he blurted out, "You don't have warts."

"Warts?" Harry stared back at him in bewilderment. "Why would I have-"

"Your kind has warts, does it not?" said the boy, now peering at him with much interest. "And you're all dirty and poor – well, you are that, by your looks." He gazed at him critically. "But you don't look diseased to me. But perhaps you do have lice and leprosy, eh?"

"What?" choked out Harry, feeling utterly gobsmacked and confused. Then he shook his head and bit out briskly, "I don't have any diseases, thank you very much. And what do you mean by 'my kind'? And you're very rude, you know that?"

The boy snapped his mouth shut, and blinked and stared at him, as if the notion that he had been rude hadn't even entered his mind. Then he shot Harry a sheepish grin, and simply said "Sorry", as if expecting a pat on the shoulder for that generous and altruistic gesture.

"Whatever," snapped Harry shortly, spinning around with every intention of elbowing his way into the shop.

"Wait!"

Harry grunted with irritation and shot a glance over his shoulder, seeing how the boy took a deep breath as if arming himself with courage.

The boy then stuck out his hand, and declared as if giving some kind of formal, uber-important speech, "I'm Alphard Black. Thank you for helping me escape from my family."

Harry blinked at the weird boy, then weighed his options, decided that perhaps the boy wasn't that bad -though he certainly was a bit bonkers- and fully turned to face him, shaking his hand. "I'm Harry Riddle."

The moment they released each others' grip, Alphard stared down at his hand, as if he had expected that it would rot and fall off, and was now discovering that nothing untoward had happened to it.

Alphard then shot him a lopsided grin. "Well, Riddle, I owe you one, and I always pay my debts." He jutted his chin towards the shop, and added, "You were going into the Quidditch store, were you not? I'll be your guide, if you want."

Harry frowned at him. "My guide? What for?"

"You don't know what it is, do you?" said Alphard, shooting him a knowing glance. "I can explain it to you." He beamed a smile at him, and added enthusiastically, "It's only the best wizarding sport ever! I can tell you plenty about it!"

In the bat of an eyelash, he snagged Harry by the arm, apparently no longer scared to touch him, and pulled him along, as he started to enthuse about all the rules and details of Quidditch and all types of racing brooms, snitches and quaffles.


	12. Part I: Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

**AN:**

Here's the new chapter, on time as promised, yay! ^^

Thanks for your reviews, as always, they're much appreciated.

This time, thankfully, I only have one thing to clarify:

It's the 1930s-1940s in Part I of this fic, not the 1990s like in canon, so we can't expect that everything is the same; like the guard goblins of Gringotts asking to see vault keys at the entrance (their security measures were more strict back then, and we can infer that after Grindelwald's defeat in canon they became more lax due to that span of peaceful years), the existence of Leisure Alley, the message in Knockturn's street sign, Monsieur Ermenegilde's shop, etc…

That's all, folks!

I hope you enjoy this one! It's a light one too :) Let me know what you think!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 11**

* * *

The trip back to the orphanage was a tense affair.

Harry had had such a good time with Alphard, perusing all the marvelous items in the Quidditch shop as his new friend kept a running commentary explaining all sorts of things to Harry, that time had flown by before he had realized that he was late for meeting Tom back at the bookstore.

Reluctantly, he had informed Alphard that he had to leave, though he had been surprised when, leaving the store with Alphard by his side, the boy had stopped him before Harry could make a run towards Flourish & Blotts.

"Here, this is for you," had said Alphard, grinning at him as he plucked out a package from one of the large pockets of his dark blue robes.

Harry had recognized it. In the Quidditch shop, for a moment, the boy had slipped away and Harry had seen him buying something at the counter, to then come back holding a small package wrapped in shinny silver paper with a big, black bow. Harry had assumed, of course, that it was something that Alphard had bought for one of his siblings or cousins.

"For me?" Harry had said, looking at him in wonderment.

"Of course!" had piped in Alphard, his grin widening as he added, "For helping me out, you know, back then - and for showing me a good time."

'A good time?', Harry had thought in amazement. True, it had been fun, but it wasn't as if it merited the gifting of a present. Alphard must be a very lonely boy, the thought had then struck Harry.

Nevertheless, Harry hadn't even considered the possibility of protesting and humbly refusing the present. On the contrary, he had been rather excited of getting something new without having to spend the last galleons left in his leather pouch.

So he had swiftly grasped the package from Alphard's hands, shot him a beaming smile and had chirped happily, "Thanks!"

Alphard had shrugged his shoulders. "Don't mention it. It's only a trifle." Then he had parted from Harry with a wave of his hand as he said, "I'll see you at Hogwarts!"

Harry had waved at him as well, as he had watched as Alphard made his way to Gambol & Japes, the joke shop, feeling despondent that he didn't have time to explore that shop himself and feeling a bit sad from losing the company of his new friend.

Regardless, they would see each other at magic school, since Alphard had already told him that it would be his first year at Hogwarts as well. The boy seemingly knew all about the school, from what his parents, siblings, and cousins had told him, but Alphard had refused to tell Harry anything at all.

"You'll enjoy it more if it's a surprise for you," Alphard had told him, and Harry had simply accepted it and hadn't press for more, since he did indeed love surprises, after all.

Thus, he had finally reached Flourish & Blotts, seeing Tom standing outside, looking extremely angry, impatiently tapping his shoe on the cobble-stoned ground, with Lord Horkos' cage in one hand, their two trunks by his sides, and with the largest and thickest book Harry had ever seen tucked under an armpit – evidently, Tom had managed to charm the clerk so that they would do that trick which made things weightless.

Harry had tilted his head to a side so that he could read the title of the thick tome: 'Hogwarts: A History - New Unabridged Edition!'.

"What's that?" had instantly demanded Tom, pointing a finger at the package in Harry's hand.

"I'll explain later," Harry had quickly replied, regretting that he hadn't had a place in which to hide it from his brother. "Let's get back home before Magda realizes that we've been missing for the entire day."

"St. Jerome's is not  _home_ ," had snapped Tom poignantly, but Harry hadn't bothered to argue as he took hold of his trunk's handle and started to make way towards the Leaky Cauldron.

Tom still despised the orphanage with all his hatred and bitterness, even after Mrs. Sharpe had died and Mr. Jenkins had been sacked. However, Harry still felt that Alice was like a mother to them, still loved and adored her, and still considered Billy Stubbs, Eric Whalley, and Amy Benson to be his closest friends, and thus, for him, St. Jerome's was simply 'home'.

As they finally left the Leaky Cauldron and entered London proper, with Tom still railing at Harry for having been late and for leaving his trunk with him, they managed to get on a bus which would leave them a few blocks away from the orphanage –the bus driver shot them the oddest of looks at their trunks and owl.

Then, Harry finally started to recount his meeting of Alphard Black as he unwrapped his gift, too absorbed to notice how Tom's expression darkened with every word he spoke.

When what Alphard had given him was finally revealed, Harry widely grinned in excitement.

It was a glossy book, called 'The Most Extraordinary Chaser Tactics and Maneuvers of the Century!', and he was quick to open it and start flipping through it; seeing countless moving pictures of flying young wizards doing all sorts of air-acrobatics as they scored quaffles through hoops. According to Alphard, being a Chaser was the best and most fun position in Quidditch.

Suddenly, the book was ripped from his hands, and Harry loudly complained as Tom ruffled through the book as he batted away all of Harry's attempts to get it back.

"Quidditch – a wizards' sport, you say?" sneered Tom acidly. "Looks like utter rubbish to me."

And with that, Tom briskly flung it over Harry's head.

Harry let out a startled and alarmed yell, but thankfully swiftly snatched the sailing book in mid-air before it could fly out of the bus' window.

"What's the matter with you!" Harry bellowed irately as he protectively pressed the book against his chest, wrapping his thin arms around it.

Tom's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he hissed out spitefully, "You're all giddy and happy that you have a new little friend, aren't you? Did you tell him that you're a lowly orphan? I bet he won't like you as much when he finds out."

Harry shot him a mighty glower, but said nothing. He simply utterly ignored him – which he knew was the one thing Tom hated the most- and turned around in his seat, giving him his back in an angle that made it impossible for his brother to snatch the book away from him.

He spent the rest of the bus trip eagerly going through the book, while Tom stewed in his own dark thoughts, looking resentful, bitter, and in a foul-mood.

When they finally reached the orphanage after leaving the bus and dragging their trunks for several blocks, they easily slipped into their bedroom without encountering Magda. Evidently, the girl had never checked on them and was wholly ignorant that they had even left the place.

Nagini, though, wasn't.

" _Where_ _have_ _you_ _been?_ _"_  she demanded in a furious hiss, the instant that Tom and Harry stepped into their bedroom, uncoiling her body from her place on top of Tom's pillow to skewer them with angry, yellow eyes. _"_ _And_ _why_ _didn_ _'_ _t_ _you_ _take_ _me_ _with_ _you?_ _I_ _'_ _ve_ _been_ _alone,_ _bored,_ _all_ _day!_ _"_

" _It_ _'_ _s_ _none_ _of_ _your_ _business_ _where_ _we_ _'_ _ve_ _been,_ _"_  snapped Tom shortly, while both he and Harry managed to put their trunks by the foot of their beds, occupying the last free space of their small room.

And as Harry then plopped down on his bed to placidly burrow there to continue perusing his book, Tom meanwhile cleared their nightstand and planted Lord Horkos' cage there, right below the open window.

It took Nagini a second to coil her tail and spring upwards, her gaze fixed on the usurper, as she hissed sharply,  _"_ _What_ _'_ _s_ _that?_ _"_

Harry's gaze snapped up from the Quidditch book to glance at the snake and his brother, his lips tilting upwards in amusement at the oncoming quarrel.

" _That,_ _"_  said Tom acerbically, throwing her a look of warning,  _"_ _is_ _Lord_ _Horkos._ _An_ _owl._ _I_ _bought_ _him_ _and_ _he_ _'_ _s_ _mine._ _Get_ _used_ _to_ _it._ _"_

Nagini let out a vibrant, low hiss, as if steam was bursting from her nostrils.  _"_ _Throw_ _it_ _out!_ _I_ _won_ _'_ _t_ _share,_ _this_ _is_ _my_ _territory-_ _"_

" _This_ _is_ _MY_ _territory,_ _"_  bit out Tom angrily.  _"_ _You_ _only_ _live_ _here_ _because_ _we_ _let_ _you,_ _so_ _watch_ _what_ _you_ _say_ _and_ _mind_ _your_ _tone._ _He_ _stays._ _"_

Nagini's yellow eyes narrowed to slits. In the next second, she flung herself into mid-air, landed on the floor, and then quickly slithered up one of the legs of Harry's bed, finally swiftly coiling herself on Harry's lap.

She threw at Tom a resentful glare from her new spot, as if saying 'There, see who's my favorite person now.' And Harry shot his brother a smirk as he started to pet her.

Tom, for his part, looked utterly indifferent as he then proceeded to unlatch the door of Lord Horkos' cage.

"What are you doing?" said Harry with alarm. "I don't think that's a good idea-"

"I have to let him out," bit out Tom with irritation. "He has to hunt, doesn't he? And the cage is too small for him to be stuffed there all day."

Harry adamantly shook his head and opened his mouth, but Tom had by then already opened it.

Nagini instantly tensed on Harry's lap, as Lord Horkos pulled his hulking figure out of the cage, hopping and then perching himself on the edge of the nightstand, his sharp talons leaving gouges on the wood.

The owl's big, ugly head instantly snapped around, his red gaze fixing on Nagini with a hungry and vicious glint in it. In the next instant, the creature let out a high-pitched shriek, spanning out his enormous black wings and hunching, as if about to lurch forward in an airborne attack.

Harry's eyes went wide with alarm and he would have dived out of the way if it weren't for Nagini, who still remained on his lap.

Nevertheless, she was a dangerous and crafty creature herself, and Nagini reacted swiftly to the threat.

Propelling herself with the tip of her tail, she pulled herself up to her full height. She was wiry-thin, but fully elongated she towered over Lord Horkos' intimidating height. And as she swayed and undulated from side to side, as if in some kind of tribal dance preluding a fearsome battle, she let out a series of shrilly, rattling hisses - Harry had never heard something like that coming from her.

The two creatures remained thus, their gazes locked in some sort of deathmatch, Lord Horkos shrieking and flapping his wings, Nagini hissing and undulating.

Harry observed them warily, ready to jump to a side the moment the two engaged in a fight, while Tom merely watched them nonchalantly.

To Harry's astonishment, Lord Horkos abruptly let out a gruff hoot, hopped around, and then flung himself out of the window. Nagini let out a smug hiss after that, and went back to coil herself on Harry's lap.

Harry blinked down at her, and then grinned as he started to scratch the tiny, tender scales under her jaw, as he cooed with pride,  _"_ _Aren_ _'_ _t_ _you_ _the_ _scary_ _one._ _"_

" _I_ _am,_ _"_  she hissed conceitedly, flicking out her forked tongue to contently caress his finger.

Tom scoffed at that, shooting both of them a snide look, to then merely sit on his bed and become immersed in 'Hogwarts: A History'.

A while later, Lord Horkos returned with a dead rat hanging by the tail from his beak. The creature utterly ignored Nagini as he started to gobble down his prey, and Nagini didn't even raise her head from Harry's lap.

Apparently, both creatures had already settled matters in their own way and had reached an agreement of 'live and let live'.

Half an hour had passed by, during which Tom and Harry brushed their teeth and changed to their pajamas to then continue reading their respective books, when the first sounds of activity reached their ears – the muffled, excited voices of children.

"They're back," whispered Harry. He shot Nagini a glance as he hissed urgently,  _"_ _You_ _know_ _what_ _to_ _do._ _"_

She reared her head back to pierce him with a miffed gaze, and then she flung the tip of her tail in Lord Horkos' direction.

" _What_ _about_ _the_ _creature?_ _"_  she spat in a hiss, as if the owl was the most loathsome thing in existence.  _"_ _If_ _I_ _have_ _to_ _hide,_ _then_ _it_ _should_ _too-_ _"_

" _He_ _'_ _s_ _just_ _an_ _owl,_ _"_  snapped Tom from his bed.  _"_ _They_ _'_ _ll_ _let_ _us_ _keep_ _him._ _"_  He shot Nagini a harsh glance as he added crisply,  _"_ _You_ _'_ _re_ _a_ _snake_ _and_ _you_ _'_ _d_ _scare_ _them._ _If_ _they_ _see_ _you,_ _they_ _'_ _ll_ _kill_ _you._ _You_ _already_ _know_ _that._ _"_

" _I_ _would_ _like_ _to_ _see_ _them_ _try,_ _"_ hissed Nagini, peeling open her maw to display her row of small albeit long, sharp teeth.

" _Come,_ _Nagini,_ _"_  said Harry in soothing, soft tones, as he offered her his arm,  _"_ _it_ _will_ _only_ _be_ _for_ _a_ _while._ _I_ _'_ _ll_ _let_ _you_ _out_ _afterwards,_ _I_ _promise._ _"_

She let out a hissed huff of indignation but nevertheless complied, wrapping herself along Harry's forearm. He opened the drawer of the nightstand and helped her slither into it.

Not a moment too soon, when Harry had dived under his covers and hid his book, with Tom doing the same, the door of their room cracked open.

Alice stepped inside with a worried expression on her face. "Are you feeling better, Harry-"

Her mouth hung agape the next instant, her eyes going wide as her gaze flickered from their trunks to Lord Horkos, who was still perched on their nightstand savagely devouring what was left of his rat.

"What's all this? And what's that!" Alice gasped out, looking as if she was about to shriek and run for the hills at the sight of Lord Horkos.

Tom forestalled her by saying smoothly, "He's an owl, completely harmless."

"Owl?" murmured Alice, blinking, and not looking at all convinced as she gazed at the creature again. Then she shook her head and demanded, in a more forceful tone of voice, "What are you doing with an owl?" She gestured at their trunks next. "And what are these!"

"Mr. Dumbledore gave us money for things we had to buy for our school," replied Tom calmly. "Just uniforms and the sort."

Alice gaped at them. "You went to buy clothes? To London-"

"It was his idea," piped in Harry, pulling a miserable expression on his face as he pointed a finger at Tom. "I told him I felt too ill, but he forced me-"

"You did what?" snapped Alice angrily, instantly rounding on Tom. "You said you'd take care of him, that's the only reason why I agreed to leave you behind!"

Tom had already thrown a furious glare at Harry the moment he heard him, but Harry had merely quirked an eyebrow at him.

Really, what had his brother expected? He wasn't going to tell Alice that he had faked the stomachache. Besides, his version of things neatly covered their tracks and was utterly convincing.

"Oh, I shouldn't have believed you," railed Alice at Tom. "Taking care of your sick brother was too much to expect from you, I see! And dragging the poor boy to stores…" With an expression of deep concern she reached Harry's bedside, as she added frantically, "Look at him – he even looks paler than this morning!"

Harry nodded several times, let out a pitiful moan and slowly rubbed his belly, as he peered at her with wide, pained eyes.

"Oh you poor child," she crooned softly, as she sat on his bed and worriedly pressed the palm of her hand on Harry's forehead. "You haven't developed a fever, at least…" She shot Tom a sharp glance and snapped, "Not thanks to you!"

With a huff, Alice rose to her feet and said quietly to Harry, "I'll bring you a cup of chamomile tea, dear. That will help."

The second she was gone, Tom flung off the covers of his bed and jumped to his feet, as he hissed out irately, "You backstabbing, traitorous little-"

"Relax," said Harry calmly with a roll of his eyes. "It worked, didn't it? I don't see why you must get so riled up-"

Tom's dark blue eyes flashed as he took a threatening step forward to loom over Harry's supine form, as he gritted out through clenched teeth with vicious sarcasm, "You don't see why I should-"

"Oh – oh!" gasped out Harry, letting out a loud groan.

Tom gazed at him in startled bewilderment, but Harry ignored it as he continued, now in a suffering and pained tone of voice, "I'm feeling worse – so much worse! My tummy is killing me – I might even vomit!"

He then shot Tom a pointed glance, as he added loftily, "I'm very, very ill. So you don't want Alice to return and see you standing there shouting at me, do you? I suggest you go back to your bed."

Tom stared at him with incredulity for a split second, and then with murder in his eyes, as if he was about to leap forward and savagely strangle him to death. The boy's dark blue eyes narrowed to slits, as he said very, very quietly, "You'll pay for this."

Harry shot him a toothy grin and then merely shrugged. He could deal with anything his brother dished out.

Tom threw at him one last fulminating glare promising painful retribution, before he spun around and slipped into his bed, pulling an impassive expression on his face.

As Harry comfortably burrowed himself under the covers, nearly twiddling his thumbs, he slowly mused out loud, "What do you think Mr. Dumbledore told them?"

Tom and he had discussed the possibilities earlier in the day as they made their way to the Leaky Cauldron.

That morning, when they had opened their envelopes, besides the Hogwarts' letters with a list of required items and their classes, they had also discovered cream-hued, glossy parchments with seals on them displaying two intertwined M's.

They had seen that it was from the 'Ministry of Magic'; that had given them quite a lot to talk about.

Tom had fumed and angrily ranted – his brother despised all forms of authority, after all, and held them in contempt. Harry hadn't been thrilled either; it had been the first sign that indicated that the Magical World wasn't the fantasyland he had envisioned.

Furthermore, when they actually read the letters, they had both been very disappointed. Besides a formal greeting welcoming them into the Wizarding World, there had been a long list of rules that under-aged wizards, especially those living in the 'Muggle World', had to follow.

Firstly, they couldn't do magic outside of Hogwarts, not in their homes or anywhere else. Secondly, they couldn't do magic in the presence of muggles. Thirdly, they could tell no muggle about the existence of the Wizarding World; the only exception was immediately family - muggles related to them in the first degree by blood, in which case a Ministry official would have already visited their homes in order to explain matters to them. And finally, the first rule only expired when they became of age – apparently, when they turned seventeen.

If they broke any of those rules, their wands would be snapped, they would be expelled from Hogwarts, and if they were seventeen years old or over, they would also be sent to somewhere called 'Azkaban'. Obviously, it couldn't be a very nice place.

Thus, given that Alice and Kathy were just 'muggles' with no relation to them, they had wondered what Mr. Dumbledore had told them regarding Hogwarts.

The only thing they had surmised was that whatever the wizard had said must have been a very good, convincing lie, because neither of the women had even asked them any questions.

"Eh, Tom, so what do you think he told'em?" pressed on Harry when his brother remained silent.

"I'm not talking to you," spat Tom, as he continued to stare up at the ceiling.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him. "Are you really going to sulk and brood?"

At that, Tom shot him the nastiest look Harry had ever seen, and Harry uneasily cleared his throat and mumbled quietly, "Er… yeah... do whatever you like…"

Then he quickly rolled to a side, turning his back to Tom, though he could still feel his brother's gaze boring holes into him; it made him feel a bit nervous and uncomfortable. Tom could be very scary when he wanted.

Harry heard rustling sounds and he peeked a glance over his shoulder, seeing Tom getting up from his bed and then moving towards the door.

"Where're you going?" asked Harry in puzzlement.

"I'm going to find out what he said to them," bit out Tom as he yanked the door open. When he caught sight of Harry's beaming grin, he snarled like a wild beast, "I'm not doing it for you, twerp! I want to know myself!"

And with that, he slammed the door shut after him, but Harry kept grinning nonetheless.

* * *

Tom fumed as he made his way towards the ground floor, imagining all sorts of ways in which he would take revenge on his 'little brother', his dear 'twin', the imp who had dared to use his wiles against him, persuading him to skip the trip to Southend-on-Sea –and Tom had had great plans for that trip: the cave! – to go to Diagon Alley, and who had then betrayed him in front of Alice.

Why, he had taught the little tyke everything the boy knew!

And then, for a moment, he felt a powerful blaze of pride. Harry had tricked him, and quite cunningly and slyly, at that. Naturally, it was all because of him – since Harry was innately too much of a goody-goody two shoes. Clearly, Harry had grown to be a bit astute due to Tom, because of Tom's lessons and influence.

Those thoughts marginally assuaged his roaring bad-temper. Nevertheless, it didn't mean that he wasn't going to make his 'little brother' pay.

Tom's lips curled upwards in satisfaction, envisioning the enjoyable possibilities. And despite his inward musings, he didn't fail to notice how, as he made his way along the corridors, the children gave him a wide berth. That ultimately lifted up his spirits.

If he had been sentimental, stupid little Harry, most of those children would have been calling out to him, cheerfully blabbering like idiots to tell him all about their seaside trip, all the silly little games they played and the stupid things that Old John Bryce had told them about the Great War, and whatnot.

Instead, Tom was beheld with fear, and was given the instinctual, primal respect that came with that, in his opinion. Thus, he was left blissfully alone and in peace.

At last, he caught sight of the kitchen, where he saw Alice placing a cup of tea on a tray. But Tom dismissed her; it was Mrs. Cole, as the Matron of St. Jerome's, who would know more about it. So he turned to a side and finally reached Kathy's office.

Tom didn't bother to knock. He simply pulled the door open and nonchalantly strolled inside.

Kathy was behind her cluttered desk, looking none the more rested nor refreshed after her trip to the seaside. Her gaze instantly snapped up to sharply glance at him, her expression turning guarded, suspicious, and dour all at the same time.

Well, he despised her too. Tom returned her gaze with a frosty one of his own, as he pulled a chair and smoothly took a seat, not waiting for an invitation.

Kathy's eyes narrowed at that, and then she said briskly, "What can I help you with, Tom?"

"I was wondering," Tom said calmly, "what you knew about the school Harry and I are going to attend."

Kathy blinked at him, as if startled by a trivial question. "Well, I expect you know as much or more than I do. Mr. Bumbleboor went to speak to you, didn't he?"

"He did," replied Tom coolly, "but he didn't give us much information. Just that it was a… private…" he began, gauging her expression with every word he added to see if he was hitting the mark of what she had been told "… boarding… school… somewhere in…"

"In Scotland - yes," cut in Kathy impatiently, nodding her head and waving a hand as if wanting to quickly end a foolish conversation, "that your father selected for you boys, and fully paid, before dying."

Tom's eyebrows nearly shot up to his hairline. But he managed to mask his astonished surprise, and merely placidly gazed back at her, as he intoned softly, "Father… 'our' father – Harry's and mine?"

Kathy stared at him as if wondering if he had taken a hit to the head. "Yes, Tom, who else would it be?"

Tom's eyes marginally widened, but then he cleared his throat and said nonchalantly, "I see. I wonder… if our father enrolled us in the school, you must have asked Mr. Dumbledore for proof. You wouldn't have simply taken his word for it, would you?"

"Of course not," retorted Kathy, looking quite affronted. "I'm the Matron of an orphanage. I wouldn't just let two boys wander off to some mysterious school without having information about it, or documents ascertaining the validity of your enrollment." She shot Tom a most insulted look, as she started to go through the things on top of her desk, as she muttered, "In fact, Mr. Dumberdoor gave me the papers himself – with the information about the school, it's location, and even the contract your father signed before he died in that accident… or was it your grandparents?… I don't quite recall, but it's somewhere here…"

"You say you saw signatures in a contract?" inquired Tom smoothly. "Do you recall the names?"

"Yes, it was…" Kathy trailed off, abruptly deeply frowning and then rubbing her forehead. "Well, I don't quite remember right now… it was something like... like…" She huffed, apparently annoyed at her own faulty memory, and then rummaged through the papers at the right side of her desk. "I remember leaving the contract here… I must have misplaced it..."

Indeed, she only found a blank piece of paper in the place where she would have sworn she had left the document.

Meanwhile, Tom was observing her with the intensity of a hawk, a mesmerizing possibility churning in his mind nearly since the start of their conversation.

To further test his suspicions, Tom leaned forward and absorbed her with his gaze, as he murmured quietly, "I trust that our agreement still stands?"

"Agreement?" Kathy stopped perusing her desk in order to stare back at him with a perplexed frown. "What agreement?"

"The agreement we reached some years ago," said Tom carefully, piercing her with his dark blue gaze, taking notice of any possible twitch in her expression, "one night when I overheard you and Alice arguing about me and my… twin, in the kitchen. And I confronted you, because I was angry about…."

He trailed off, skewering her with his gaze as he waited for her to complete his sentence.

"Um, yes," said Kathy, blinking twice at him. "I think I remember. We argued about…" Her forehead scrunched. "Er, it was about…"

"I was very rude and angry then," supplied Tom slowly, intently staring at her.

"Yes," interjected Kathy flatly, shooting him a wry glance. "I remember  _that_."

Tom shook his head, a contrite expression on his face as he said candidly, "I shouldn't have overreacted in such manner. If you and Alice wanted to convince Harry to go to church, I shouldn't have been so angry about it. I should have let you do it, instead of making you promise to leave him alone -"

"Oh, yes, you might be right! I think I recall now…"

"Of course you do," Tom said warmly, widely smiling at her.

He fluidly rose to his feet, but before he left, he said one more thing, wanting to know just how deep it went.

"I've never thanked you," he whispered quietly, gazing at her with a softness in his eyes, "for helping our mother. Alice told me the story." A gentle, deeply grateful expression unfolded across his face. "You helped my mother bring me to this world. It was a difficult childbirth, from what you told Alice. And then, you…"

"I helped her give birth to Harry too, yes," stuttered Kathy, looking utterly taken aback by Tom's sweet tone, expression, and gratefulness. A pleased, pink hue blossomed on her cheeks, as she added humbly, "Well, I only did what any charitable person would have done."

"You did, indeed," said Tom softly, shooting her a gorgeous, charming smile, "and you have my undying gratitude for it."

Kathy blinked at him, looking a bit dazed.

Tom shot her one last smile –because truly, he felt as if he was walking on clouds– before he calmly strode towards the door.

"Um, Tom! I seemed to have misplaced the papers regarding the school, would you mind telling me-"

"It's called St. Thomas' Boarding School for Boys," said Tom over his shoulder as he opened the door, saying the first name similar to his own despised one which popped into his mind, as he then continued to let the lies smoothly roll out from his tongue, "it's in a town near Edinburgh. On September the first we're expected to catch a train to Edinburgh from King's Cross Station. We'll only return for Christmas and summer holidays."

"Excellent!" Kathy beamed at him as she scribbled down the information. "Thank you, Tom. I'll have Alice accompany you two boys to the station on that date."

Tom merely nodded before strolling out of the office.

* * *

"What did you find out?" Harry immediately asked the moment Tom stepped inside their room.

Evidently, Alice had already come and gone, since there was an empty cup of tea sitting on the nightstand. And Harry wasn't expecting anyone else but him, since Nagini was out in full view, now sharing a pillow with Harry, snoozing placidly. Even Lord Horkos had returned to his cage and was sleeping with his head stuck under a wing.

"Dumbledore told them that it's a private boarding school for boys near Edinburgh, called St. Thomas'," replied Tom coolly, as he toed off his shoes and slipped inside his bed, then stretching out a hand to slightly turn the knob of the oil lamp, dimming the light.

Harry propped himself up against the wall, to have a full view of him, though careful to not disturb Nagini at his side, and he said disbelievingly, "That's all?"

Tom shot him a brief glance, and said coolly, "He also told them that our father had put our names down for the school before he died in an accident."

"What?" gasped out Harry, lurching forward on his bed to stare at him. "Dumbledore knows who our father is-"

"Of course not, you nitwit," snapped Tom with aggravation, glowering at him. "How can he, when we don't know ourselves? He lied."

Harry's forehead scrunched as he mumbled, "So our dad isn't dead like he said?"

"Don't know. Don't care," said Tom impassively, shrugging his shoulders with supreme indifference.

Harry huffed at that but made no comments. Then he frowned pensively and finally blurted out incredulously, "So Dumbledore simply said that, and Alice and Kathy believed him? They didn't ask him any questions, or asked for more information about our father or the school?"

"Apparently, no."

Harry blinked at him in puzzlement, and then huffed out in disappointment, "Well, I expected something more. I thought Mr. Dumbledore must've done some trick or spun some great, complex lie to cover it all up…"

Tom's lips tilted upwards.

He could scarcely believe it. Dumbledore had done something to Mrs. Cole, something incredible, amazing, and wondrous. It was evident. Somehow, the man had altered the woman's memories. And he must have done the same to Alice as well, now that he thought about it.

Oh, he knew that it could only mean that Dumbledore was aware that Tom and Harry weren't twins. Mrs. Cole must have told the man before he changed or wiped her memories.

Of course, it made Tom extremely suspicious regarding the man's intentions. Why had the man perpetuated the lie?

No doubt the wizard would use that information against them in the future, when it served the man's interests. That could be the only explanation possible of why Dumbledore did what he did. Thus, Tom would definitely keep an eye on him at school.

Yet, maybe Dumbledore didn't know that Tom was aware of the truth about them not being twins. It depended on whether Kathy had told him or not, and Tom had no way of ascertaining that since the woman was nearly senile!

She didn't even remember what they had been arguing about, that night in the kitchen when he had suffocated her until she passed out. She didn't seem to remember much, and clearly firmly believed that Tom and Harry were twins.

At least, she remembered Tom's mother still, but apparently had firmly convinced herself that Harry had popped out right after him. Funny, since that had been exactly the version of things that Tom had told Harry.

Regardless, the point was that Dumbledore had modified the minds of two women.

It had never even crossed Tom's mind that such thing was possible! And if something so extraordinary and amazingly useful could be done with magic, then he could envision any sort of all other things that could also be done!

Tom had never felt so exhilarated in his life.

His head was filled with imaginings of all the things he could learn to do, and the immense scope of infinite possibilities that that represented for him and his future. Obtaining everything he wanted for him and Harry could be so simple!

Furthermore, apparently there was utter impunity and no repercussions. Dumbledore had erased the memories of two muggle women as if it was a trifle, or something he did everyday, after all.

Of course, according to the Ministry of Magic's letter, Tom couldn't do magic outside school until he turned seventeen. But it mattered little; he could be patient, or perhaps he could find ways around that.

Tom's smile bloomed.

Harry caught sight of something from the corner of his eyes, and he snapped his head around to gaze at his brother.

"You're…" Harry had to take a double glance to be certain, and then he stared at him, flabbergasted. "Are you smiling?"

Harry peered at him with wide eyes. He didn't remember his brother smiling ever before in his life, not once.

It was extremely disturbing. It couldn't bode anything good, Harry was certain.

"What's the matter with you?" mumbled Harry, taken aback, never peeling his gaze away from his brother. And then Tom's smile widened even further, and Harry sputtered out warily, "It's creepy."

Tom let out a soft chuckle.

"That's even creepier!" gasped out Harry in alarm, pointing a finger at him. "Stop it!"

Tom loudly snorted and then shot him a glance. "What – I can't be cheerful for once?"

"No," retorted Harry vehemently, as if it had been the dumbest question he had ever heard. "You aren't a jolly chap, in case you hadn't noticed."

Tom scoffed, but still continued to smile up at the ceiling, with his arms indolently crossed under his head.

"It's bloody spooky, it is," groused out Harry, sleepily rolling to his side so that he wouldn't have to see it anymore.

* * *

The three weeks before September the first arrived, passed by in a flash, but not without their share of incidents.

Firstly, things had gotten very amusing and enjoyable for Harry the day that Tom plucked up a bit of courage and finally informed Nagini that they would be gone for nearly a whole year and she wasn't coming along.

Their snake hadn't taken the news well, even less when she realized that Lord Horkos, the usurper of her humans and territory, would be accompanying them.

After a hissed shouting match between Tom and her, Nagini had turned vicious.

Not a day passed by when she didn't spring at Tom the moment the boy entered the bedroom, with her jaws open, ready to chomp down on whatever part of his body she could reach.

It was a pity that Tom had a large dose of self-preservation instincts, because he always managed to dodge her no matter where she popped out from.

It would have made Harry's day to see his brother with his arms and hands covered with bite marks. Nevertheless, he sniggered and chortled and encouraged Nagini in every attack. Tom murderously glared at him, but it was worth it.

Tom became unhealthily paranoid for his own sake, and was always warily glancing at shadows and corners, in case Nagini sprung forth. The boy couldn't even sleep a wink at nights, because she had learned how to reach their bedroom from the outside by slithering up the pipes –Harry had been the one to sweetly suggest to her that solution– and their window had to remain open for Lord Horkos and his hunting trips.

Thus, Harry was vastly entertained by them during those weeks.

Secondly, as Harry knew would happen, the neighborhood became aware of the presence of a large, horrendous bird terrorizing their inhabitants with the mere sight of him.

Wild rumors ran amok, and every neighbor had their own opinion of what the creature could be: some sort of vicious eagle; inexplicably, a vulture; an airborne carnivore aberration that had escaped from the London Zoo; and whatnot.

Until, one late evening, just as Harry and Tom were about to slip into their beds, they heard shouts coming from the street.

"There it is – THERE! It has my Miss Mittens!" was shrieking a woman at the top of her lungs, sounding hysteric.

Tom and Harry had instantly reached their window, to see Lord Horkos up in the air with a huge, fat animal dangling by its broken neck from his beak.

The shrieking woman was Mrs. Smith, the butcher's wife, and her husband was already with riffle in hand, shooting bullets up into the sky. The man's aim was terrible, but it didn't mean that he faltered in his attempts, the loud banging noises soon waking up the whole neighborhood.

And they all knew who Miss Mittens was, of course. Mrs. Smith's adored fat, old cat, that spent her days drowsing at the butcher's doorstep among pots of gardenias, like a beached whale.

"I told you he'd be nothing but trouble," chirped Harry merrily, as he peered out the window.

Tom fulminated him with a dark glare, and then paled when he saw Lord Horkos flying towards them with his prized prey.

As much as Tom wildly flailed his arms, apparently trying to convey to his pet to turn around and go somewhere else, the owl obviously didn't get the message.

Looking very smug, the beast flew in through their window, perched himself on their nightstand, and then proceeded to open up the dead cat by the use of his large, sharp beak, soon beginning to devour Miss Mittens' innards.

"And here I thought that owls only ate insects and mice," remarked Harry in a mutter, his stomach sickly squirming at the gory sight.

"It went into the orphanage!" was soon heard coming from the street.

At that, Harry shot Tom an impish grin and wriggled his eyebrows. He wanted to see how his brother would get out of this one.

Harry half expected their neighbors would come with torches and pitchforks in hand to pummel at their door.

Tom, the little sneak, was quick to shove Harry out of their room, ordering him to find out what was happening.

Harry merely complied because he was feeling generous, and because he wasn't the guilty party this time and thus could enjoy the proceedings without having to worry about his own skin.

He reached the staircase of their floor and peered above the rail to watch what was going on at the entrance of the orphanage.

Their neighbors hadn't come calling for bloody murder, except the butcher who still held his riffle, but they had pounded on the orphanage's door as they bellowed.

It was Kathy who had greeted them in her usual brisk, no-nonsense manner, and now a cacophony of angered or indignant shouts could be heard as she answered them.

"Ye're tellin' me that creature's an owl? That's no owl!"

"It took my Miss Mittens!"

"What d'you mean it's the pet of one of your orphans? Since when are owls pets!"

"One of the Riddle boys? It's always 'em – those troublemakers!"

Harry merely watched them in silence, undetected. He had known that his days of being the adored little orphan of the neighborhood had ended when Mr. Jenkins had been fired and the spiteful, vicious man had spent all his nights in the pub bellowing that his disfigurement and loss of an eye had been Tom and Harry's fault.

And Tom, of course, besides that added stain on his ignominious reputation, had always had Father Patrick –the neighborhood's respected priest- publicly railing against him.

"We demand they come forth with the beast – let us get a shot at it and be done with it."

Then, Harry barely heard Kathy's calm voice saying something about boarding school.

"They're leaving?" said someone with a much-relieved tone of voice. "And they're taking the creature with 'em?"

Whatever she replied to that, it seemed to soothe their ruffled feathers, though some still grumbled as they left.

Thus, Harry returned to his bedroom utterly disappointed that his brother hadn't gotten in trouble, and merely said to Tom, "You have Kathy to thank, for saving your hide."

Tom didn't reply to that except to shoot him a sneer, and then glanced at his owl with irritation; his delusions of what a perfect pet it would be, as a tool of intimidation without bringing negative consequences, crushed.

The third incident - well, it hadn't been an incident per se, but rather his brother being the mean, spiteful git that he could sometimes be.

One afternoon, Harry returned to their bedroom to see Tom standing there, looking quite smug and pleased with himself, with a nasty glint of relishing anticipation in his eyes.

Instantly, Harry became on guard, ready for anything that his brother could suddenly dish out at him. But Tom didn't move an inch; he merely smirked at him and then pointedly glanced at Harry's bed.

Cautiously, Harry took a step forward to peer at it. There was only a handful of ashes on top of his covers.

"What's that?" he said, puzzled.

"Notice anything missing?" intoned Tom pleasantly.

Harry frowned and threw his gaze around. Then he did a double take at his closed trunk; that morning he had left his Quidditch book on top of it.

"What did you do!" gasped out Harry, his eyes wide with horrified disbelief.

Tom shot him a wide, poignant smile. "Why, I simply stuck your precious little book in the playroom's fireplace, watched it burn to cinders while I chortled, and then brought back its ashes for you to admire."

Harry didn't quite know what took possession of him. But he saw red - he felt such a surge of blinding rage as he had never before.

One second he was standing there, staring at his brother with aghast incredulity, then in the next, he had leaped at him like a feral, demented beast, letting out a shrilly, high-pitched shriek of a battle-cry that he would later refuse to admit that it had come out of him.

His reaction took Tom by surprise, no doubt. But it didn't stop Harry from pummeling him as viciously hard as he could. Tom replied in kind, and they were soon grappling with each other, landing blows and kicks as they rolled in the little space that was between their beds, hitting their heads and limbs against furniture and whatnot, like a pair of wild street cats.

Tom was a head taller than Harry, but while Tom had sneered at learning how to fight from Mr. Hutchins, Harry had not, and he knew quite a few tricks and had had practice.

Not to mention that Harry had always completely ignored Bob's rules about what was unsportsmanlike. He had good teeth and a strong bite, so Harry also used it in this occasion, chomping down on one of Tom's arms without letting go, like a determined bulldog, while he flung his small fists at Tom's ribcage.

Obviously, their furious screams and yells soon caused a crowd of children to gather at their door. And in a few seconds, they overheard the caregivers arriving at the site, shouting at them to stop.

However, they were all women and Harry wasn't ashamed to admit that he thus completely ignored them. If Bob Hutchins had been there and had told him to stop, he would have. But really, what did girls know about the need to fight to stand up for oneself?

Moreover, Tom wouldn't have obeyed anyone for any reason. Thus neither of them stopped and they completely ignored their spectators.

Until, something icily chilly splashed down on them, and Tom and Harry jumped away from each other, sputtering out water from their mouths and haggardly gasping for breath.

Drenched like pathetic kittens in the rain, they both stared at Kathy Cole, who was glaring at them with thunder in her eyes, a dripping, empty pot hanging from her hands.

"This," she snapped furiously, "is unacceptable. I expected better from you both!"

She said 'both', but she was staring at Harry in particular, because truly, it was well known that the woman had given up on Tom a long time ago. And Harry then felt a bit chagrined at the reprimand, because even though he didn't love her like he did Alice, he was still fond of Mrs. Cole.

Alice then ran into the room, with a roll of bandages in one hand and a bottle of iodine in the other, ready to gently nurse them back to health.

However, Kathy instantly forestalled her, barring her with an outstretched arm, as she snapped, "Let them feel the pain of their own stupidity." Then she skewered them with her gaze and added briskly, "You're to remain locked in your room for the day. And I don't want to hear a peep coming from here. One sound of fighting and you'll be grounded for a week."

And with that, she herded the rest of the children away and then banged their door shut.

Harry and Tom dragged themselves up and took opposites side of the room, each flopping down to sit at the edge of their beds.

Still with water dripping from his hair and clothes, feeling every crook and cranny of his body aching, Harry shot his brother a resentful, baleful glare, as he bit out, "You crossed the line."

"I don't know why you're throwing a hissy fit," acidly sneered Tom at him. "You don't even like books-"

"I liked that one, and you knew it!" spat Harry furiously. "You had no right!"

Tom shot him a vindictive smirk at that, as he intoned sweetly, "See what happens for turning against me?"

"This is because I told Alice it was your idea to go shopping when I was 'ill'?" gritted out Harry, angry beyond measure. "Then you should have done something else to get back at me. I would have never burned one of your books. And that one was a present!"

"It was a present," mimicked Tom in a high-pitched, childish voice, throwing him a snide sneer.

Harry's green eyes narrowed to slits. In the next second, he shot him a nasty, smug smirk. "Ah. I see. So that's the matter. You're jealous because I made a new friend. You're always jealous of me because I have people who like me and you don't!"

"I'm not jealous of you, you twit! And I don't want or need friends!" snarled Tom looking indignant, flinging out a leg to kick Harry in the shin.

Harry's eyes narrowed again in anger, and he returned the kick as hard as he could, as he intoned mockingly, "You kick like a little girl. You punch like one too, come to that!"

Tom's nostrils flared and he viciously kicked Harry again.

In no time, they had engaged in a kicking battle, both of them gripping the sides of their beds for support, snarling and panting heavily, until Tom roared, "Enough!"

Harry immediately stopped, but only because he was wheezing by then, his legs pulsing painfully, no doubt black and blue, and he could no longer move without groaning.

When he recovered his breath, Harry merely shot his brother a scathing glance and slowly moved to get some textbooks from his trunk.

They couldn't leave the room according to Kathy and he wasn't going to speak to Tom, so he had no choice but to entertain himself with his Hogwarts books.

The idea didn't much appeal to him, but in the end he curled himself up in his bed, inwardly whimpering due to the aches, and then discovered that the 'Charms' textbook was actually interesting; it had loads of animated pictures of wand movements and the spells did pretty awesome things.

He soon became immersed in it, while Tom read his stupid 'Hogwarts: A History', because his brother, know-it-all book-muncher that he was, had already flipped through all of his textbooks.

The following day, Harry had already forgiven him, because he still couldn't hold a grudge for long and being angry at his brother was simply exhausting and left him feeling miserable.

Nevertheless, Harry had managed to wring from his brother the promise that Tom would replace the book. He had mercilessly nagged him and even set Nagini on him twice until Tom caved in.

Harry didn't care how Tom did it: whether he had to steal galleons to buy the book, borrow them, nick the book itself, or thoroughly charm the shopkeeper so that he could have it for free. Harry just wanted that book back, and he had even been magnanimous and had given Tom the time frame of one year.

And thus, they had made their peace, as they always did in the end, no matter what.

Finally, just two days before they had to leave for Hogwarts, the last incident happened, which inevitably left Harry's innocent sensibilities a bit traumatized.

They had been peacefully sleeping in their beds when they were woken up by a girly scream.

Harry would have blissfully ignored it and gone back to sleep if it wasn't because the scream got louder and then he recognized the voice that started to frantically shout.

"Amy is bleeding to death! Help – HELP!"

It was Mary, one of Amy Benson's friends and the one who shared her bedroom.

Worriedly, Harry dragged himself out of his bed and reached the corridor. Tom trailed after him at a sedate pace, surely to see what the dunderheads of the orphanage were up to and to sneer and mock them.

Many other boys had already left their bedrooms as well; Harry saw his friends Eric Whalley and Billy Stubbs among them.

Going together, they quickly went down the stairs and reached the girls' floor, seeing a group of girls crowding the threshold of Amy's room.

Harry and his friends managed to elbow their way inside and then stood rooted in place, staring at Amy who was hysterically sobbing on her bed. There were red stains on the sheets and on her nightgown.

"What's the matter with her?" muttered Billy Stubbs, looking alarmed. "Is that blood?"

Harry could only stare without replying. It did look serious.

When he was about to take the steps to reach Amy and see where she was injured, to try to help her, Kathy appeared, barking out for everyone to make way.

By her looks, she had been having another late night in her office going through the orphanage's accounts. Alice and Robert were with her, but evidently those two had simply been spending time talking to each other in the kitchen, as they had taken to do during the year.

"Oh, stop your crying, lass," said Kathy impatiently, looking thoroughly vexed. "We told you about this two months ago when you turned thirteen. You knew it would happen at some point."

That didn't seem to help matters because Amy let out a wail of despair.

Finally, it was Alice who started patting her on the back comfortingly, as she said gently, "It only means you've become a woman, Amy. It's not a bad thing."

Evidently Amy didn't think so because, if possible, she burst into even greater tears, her sobs turning more wretched and panicky.

"She's a woman now?" piped in Eric Whalley bewildered. "How's that?"

"But she's bleeding!" said Billy adamantly. "Is she hurt or what?"

Kathy snapped her head around at that, to stare at them before she commanded sharply, "All of you boys, out! You have no business here." She shot Alice a glance, and added briskly, "Alice take charge of them, I'll take care of Amy."

Alice was quick to round them up and herd them away, but Harry refused to leave until he knew if his friend was alright, so he asked, "What's happening to her?"

"Perhaps you should explain it to them," said Robert Hutchins then. "They're old enough to know about that and about-"

"Yes, yes, fine," cut in Alice, looking weary and none too thrilled with the suggestion.

She took them to the playroom, though Harry noticed that the boys younger than him and those older by four or more years were left behind.

Furthermore, Tom had tried to slip away but Alice had instantly caught sight of his attempt and had said sharply, "You too, Tom."

"Please," Tom had scoffed out with a snide look on his face. "I already know about-"

"I don't care what you know or don't know," had interjected Alice impatiently. "You're coming along."

Tom had fumed in his indignation, apparently because it was an utter waste of his time or because he was being bundled with half-brained children. Nonetheless, he followed them in the end.

Alice then stood before them, with Robert by her side, who nodded at her as if giving her encouragement. She seemed to need it, because Alice looked fidgety and flustered.

Whatever she was going to explain had to be very important, Harry decided.

"Well, let's see," began Alice, "there are bees and flowers…"

Tom let out a loud snort, and she fulminated him with a glance, but then went on.

"What's she talking about?" whispered Harry to his friends in utter bafflement as Alice carried on with her explanation about bees carrying pollen seeds and planting them in flowers and whatnot.

"Gardening, by the sound of it," replied Eric Whalley, shrugging his shoulders.

"… and then, the married couple gets a visit by a stork, who carries their baby and leaves it at their doorstep…"

"Bees, flowers, and now storks?" whispered Billy Stubbs looking thoroughly confused.

"… and so, that's how babies are made," concluded Alice, shooting them a smile.

Harry frowned, highly puzzled. "But what do plants and bees-"

"And the stork!" whispered Billy to him, nudging him with an elbow.

Harry nodded, and continued loudly, "- and storks, have to do with Amy being hurt? And I didn't understand the baby-making part either."

Alice blanched, looking uneasy, and then she cleared her throat. "Well, you see, when a girl's body matures, when she's a certain age, she starts bleeding because it means she can have babies. But it's not a subject for polite conversation," she added, shooting them a warning glance. "So I don't want you boys talking or bothering the girls about it."

"But girls bleed from where?" piped in Eric Whalley, frowning. "Because I didn't see that Amy had an injury. And why would girls bleed if they can have babies?"

Harry nodded in agreement, extremely befuddled. "Yes, because you said that it was the bees and flowers that made babies and the stork that carries it to the parents. And I don't see how plants can have babies-"

Robert Hutchins loudly cleared his throat, looking amused for a brief moment, to then gently say to Alice, "Perhaps it would be best if I explained matters to them?"

"Oh yes, you're quite right!" exhaled out Alice, looking mightily relieved. "Of course it's better if a man explains it to boys."

And with that, she practically fled from the room, leaving Harry blinking after her, perplexed.

"Let's start from the beginning," said Robert calmly, "our male anatomy and how it works. We have penises..."

"He's talking about our willies!" sniggered Eric Whalley under his breath.

"… and you're at an age in which your body is maturing. Some of you might already be doing it. There's no shame in that. You won't turn blind or get warts on your hands. It's a completely natural…"

Harry gazed at him with wide eyes, while some of the older boys were either twittering and snickering, or looking uncomfortable, with red blotches on their faces.

"... I won't speak about the female anatomy. It's only proper that we preserve their modesty," went on to say Robert. "Only know that when you fall in love with a woman and after you marry her, your body will know what to do. You'll have sexual intercourse with your wife, or what's simply called 'sex', and your seed – as Alice tried to explain with the metaphor of bees and flowers- will be planted in your wife's womb, and your child will grow there until it's ready to be born."

Well, that had certainly cleared up many things for him, Harry thought. Though he wasn't quite sure if he had wanted to know that much. It did sound awfully troublesome to him.

"Why can't you tell us how sex's done?" groused out Eric Whalley with dissatisfaction.

"You're all a bunch of dimwits!" abruptly snapped Tom, apparently finally having reached his limit of how much nonsense he could withstand. "We've all already seen what sex is! It's what the mongrels do in the streets – one dog mounting the other, sticking it inside and rutting. That's what people do too, you simpletons!"

Harry stared at him with wide eyes, struck by the monumental revelation, with his mouth hanging agape.

Most of the other boys were wearing similar expressions on their faces as well.

"Tom!" said Robert sharply, his tone of voice censuring and reprimanding. "Enough of that."

"What – it's true!" bit out Tom with impatient annoyance. "And what you said is a load of codswallop. Men don't have to marry stupid women to have sex – they both want it for the pleasure it apparently gives. And you don't have to marry for that. I bet that half the children here are bastards, so that proves it!"

Harry blinked, but his mind was still reeling with Tom's first explanation. He gazed at him and said slowly as the astounding idea unfolded in his mind, "So a man mounts a woman like the dogs do, and that's sex?"

"Yes," said Tom coolly, just at the same time that Robert quickly said with alarm, "No!"

Harry stared at them warily, his gaze flickering from one to the other.

"People are not animals, Harry," then said Robert gently, shooting Tom a vexed glance. "We are civilized. We fall in love, we marry, and we form a family. And sex should be an act of love-"

Tom let out a disdainful snort, shooting Robert a scathing glance to then turn to Harry. "You can marry or not. You can do whatever you want, Harry. Don't let him convince you otherwise."

And with that, he spun around and strolled out of the room.

After that, Mr. Hutchins reiterated his view of things, but most of the boys were whispering among themselves regarding the things Tom had said and didn't pay him much attention. So the man apparently gave up and let them return to their rooms for a good night of sleep.

Two days later, Harry was parting from his friends at the orphanage.

After the day in which Lord Horkos had murdered and gobbled down Miss Mittens, the news that the Riddle brothers were going to a boarding school in Scotland had spread like wildfire throughout the neighborhood. Which inevitably led to Harry's friends finding out before he came around to telling them himself.

Harry's friends' reactions had been varied.

Eric Whalley had sulked for three days, envious that Harry was going to some private school while the rest of them were stuck in the neighborhood's public one.

Though then it seemed to pass and he wished Harry the best, imparting to him some sound advice: "Just bully them if those snotty, rich boys stick up their noses in the air at you!"

Harry had nodded at him, though he didn't know why everyone seemed to be under the impression that 'St. Thomas' School' was a place for posh people.

Billy Stubbs had been sincerely happy and excited for his friend, and had hugged him, making Harry promise that he would write.

And Amy Benson had taken the news hard, clinging to Harry, asking him not to leave and even sobbing twice on his shoulder.

That had made Harry feel very uncomfortable; he didn't like to see girls cry, and it always made him feel as if it was entirely his fault, somehow. And he was terrible at trying to comfort them, to boot.

She wasn't there at the entrance of the orphanage to wish him farewell like Billy and Eric. Apparently, according to her friend Mary, she was in her bedroom crying.

The moment he heard that, Harry quickly waved at Eric and Billy, grabbed his trunk, and left the place as fast as possible, just in case Amy abruptly decided to make an appearance.

At last, Tom and Harry loaded their trunks and Lord Horkos' cage at the back of Robert Hutchins' delivery wagon.

Alice was accompanying them to the station and Robert had kindly offered to drive them there. Harry, of course, tried to grasp the opportunity.

He peered up at Bob and chimed, "Can I drive?"

The man seemed to give it some consideration, but Alice instantly forestalled it by snapping, "Absolutely not! He shouldn't have taught you how to drive in the first place – you're just a child!"

Harry pouted as endearingly as he could manage, but it didn't seem to work on Alice in this occasion.

However, apparently it did with Mr. Hutchins. The man patted him on the head, shot him a wink and whispered, "I'll let you drive when you come back for the holidays - how's that?"

Harry beamed at him, and so he obediently sat at the back of the wagon with Tom, while Robert took the wheel and Alice sat with him at the front.

And thus, they made their way to King's Cross Station.


	13. Part I: Chapter 12

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks for your reviews!

In this chappie, you can skip the whole explanation about types of magic, dark and light spells, and types of wizards. It's for Tom and Harry's 'enlightenment', to get over their first introduction to those concepts in one big swoop.

It's very similar to what I wrote in Black Heir and Vindico Atrum, I'm changing nothing here, because these issues don't play such an important part in this fic.

So it will be very boring and tedious to those of you who have read those fics. I recommend you skip that part – you'll realize what part it is the moment you start reading it.

This chapter isn't too thrilling, but it had to be covered. The important thing is the new people that the boys meet, because they will much influence their lives and the plot too, to some extent.

More serious and plot-advancing parts will come in the next chapter, I think.

**That said, I hope you enjoy this nonetheless, and let me know your opinions!**

****NEW POLL: In Twist of Fate, in which House do you want Harry Riddle to be sorted?  
****

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**Part I: Chapter 12**

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Tom and Harry were making their way through King's Cross station, towing their weightless trunks, with Lord Horkos' cage dangling from one of Tom's hands and with Mr. Hutchins and Alice whispering to each other behind them.

Tom pulled out once more, from his pocket, the train ticket that they had found inside their letters. And he scowled at the glowing golden letters that simply read: 'Hogwarts Express. Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. 11 o'clock.'

He had thought nothing of it the first time he had seen it, since he had never been in a train station before. But now, as they passed by platform two and started to cross platform three, it was evident to him that the platforms' numeral system didn't include fractions.

Mr. Dumbledore hadn't said anything about this. Evidently, it had slipped the man's mind, and Tom was now glaring down at his ticket. All the while, his stupid little brother didn't seem to have realized their predicament, yet. Harry was merely glancing back at Alice and Robert, a concerned expression on his face.

"D'you know what they're arguing about?" worriedly whispered Harry to him, as they started crossing platform four.

Tom glanced at him, deadpanned, but nevertheless replied in a flat, indifferent tone of voice, "Mr. Hutchins wants to enlist in the Army and Alice is trying to convince him not to." His lips curled in disdain. "She wants to get married and he wants to wait."

Harry gawked at him. "How do you know that?"

"Because I listen and I observe," said Tom shortly.

"Because you eavesdrop and you spy, you mean," quipped Harry, and then a beaming smile of pure joy spread on his face. "So they're getting married!"

Tom shot him a scathing sneer. "No, you twerp. Hutchins is going to the Army and he'll get killed in the war, no doubt. And if we're lucky, Alice will be so distraught that she'll end up killing herself."

"What-?" Harry gasped out in bewilderment, to then darkly glower at him. "Alice isn't going to off herself! And Bob isn't going to die – what are you talking about – war? There isn't any war!"

Tom glanced at him with utter contempt. "If you read the newspapers, you'd know-"

"I might not read the newspapers," snapped Harry hotly. "But I hear things, don't I? All the grown ups are talking about it, and Alice is always tuning the radio to the newscast." He shot him a hard look, as he added with utter conviction, "And no one thinks there's going to be a war."

"No one thinks so because they're all half-brained imbeciles like yourself," bit out Tom snidely. "The Germans already got the Rhineland and Austria, and have now occupied the Sudetenland - the rest of Czechoslovakia will be next, obviously," he added nonchalantly. "There  _will_  be war soon. Only idiots still think that there could be peace."

And with that, he quickened his pace, leaving Harry a little bit behind as he started to glance at the signs of the platforms once again.

The moment Harry caught up to him, Tom felt too vexed and irritated to further try to convince his brother of something he knew was inevitable. Instead, he decided to close the subject with something that had been troubling him for some time.

"They want to adopt us after they get married," hissed out Tom accusingly as if it was the most heinous of crimes, the moment that Harry was about to open his mouth.

Harry snapped his mouth shut, his eyes grew as wide as moons, and then he breathed out, "They do?"

He was utterly surprised at first and then felt a surge of exhilarated happiness, as he started to envision what his and Tom's lives would be like – finally having a home of their own, with Alice and Bob as their parents, happily loving each other and them...

Harry shot the two quarreling adults behind him a look of pure love and gratefulness.

He couldn't overhear their whispered conversation, but Alice's tones now sounded imploring and frantic, while Mr. Hutchins wore a gentle and patient expression on his face, though there was a look of fierce determination in his eyes – the man didn't look as if he would be yielding to Alice's pleads any time soon.

"Don't look so gleeful," snapped Tom, shooting him an angered glare. "I wouldn't agree to it and I wouldn't let you either. We don't need  _parents_ ," he spat, with a foul-mood expression on his face. Then he let out a nonchalant scoff. "Besides, it won't come to happen. Hutchins will die-"

"Don't say that!" bit out Harry furiously, snapping his head around to glower at him, though he couldn't help feeling a constriction of fear and worry in his chest, something lodging in his throat.

Tom merely snorted, and then abruptly halted under a platform sign with the number eight on it.

He spun around to face the two adults, who were startled out of their conversation when Tom intoned, "The train bound for Edinburgh is over there. Harry and I can manage from here. Thank you for accompanying us!"

Alice blinked at him, and then gazed over Tom's head, slightly frowning. "Where is it? I don't see it-"

"Over there," cut in Tom, vaguely gesturing with his hand at some point in the distance.

When Alice's frown deepened and when she opened her mouth again, Tom suddenly dropped the handle of his trunk, pushed his owl cage into Harry's arms, and then swiftly hugged Alice around the middle.

"I'll miss you!" exclaimed Tom in a warm, loving tone of voice, as Alice gaped down at him.

She looked startled and incredulous for a moment, but then she flushed with pleasure and tightly returned the embrace, as she murmured softly, her eyes looking a bit teary, "You'll be much missed too, Tom."

Harry merely gawked at his brother's unexpected actions. Tom did the same with Mr. Hutchins, who patted Tom on the head with fond affection.

"But we'll come along," began Alice, as she once more perused with her gaze the row of platforms, "and help you load your trunks into the train-"

"Alice, they don't want us there," interrupted Robert, glancing at them with a knowing look. "They are big boys now, and they don't want others to see them with two adults as if they were little children who needed guidance."

Tom stared at him for a moment, and then quickly nodded his head, shooting him a grateful look.

"Oh," let out Alice, looking a bit hurt and disappointed.

Robert merely smiled at them in understanding, and Tom then covertly shot Harry such an impatient and irritated glance that Harry sprung to his feet, still clueless about what was going on but nevertheless realizing what his brother wanted him to do. Thus, he hugged Alice and Robert as well, exchanging their farewells.

"Write to me everyday, if you can. I want to know all about it. And if you don't like it there, say the word and I'll come and fetch you!" said Alice, looking at them with worry and concern, before Robert gently took a hold of her and started to lead her away.

"What-?" began Harry the moment they were alone, but Tom didn't give him the chance to say more.

The taller boy grasped Lord Horkos' cage from the floor where Harry had left it and then grabbed his trunk's handle, as he snapped, "Hurry up, we don't have much time left."

Nonplussed, Harry followed him with trunk in tow. Though Tom halted a moment later, standing between two platforms, staring up at their signs.

Frowning, Harry dropped his trunk and at last plucked out his train ticket from his pocket. He blinked when he took notice, for the first time, of the Hogwarts Express' platform number.

"Er…" he mumbled, as he peered up at the sign that showed the number nine. He took two steps to the right and stared up at the sign of the other platform: '10', it displayed.

"Where is it?" he blurted out, scandalized.

"That's the question, isn't it?" quipped Tom coolly, with a frown on his face.

Harry shot him a bewildered glance. His gaze then snapped to a side, catching sight of the enormous clock perched high up near the ceiling, at the other side of the station. It was about to strike eleven o'clock.

"We only have five minutes left!" gasped out Harry in alarm.

"I know – shut up! Let me think," snapped Tom crossly, then he started muttering under his breath, "It has to be something logical… nine and three-quarters…"

"The platform must be hidden from muggles," blabbered Harry anxiously, in an urgent tone of voice. "Like Diagon Alley. It must be concealed by magic-"

"Yes, that much is obvious," bit out Tom with vexed annoyance.

Seeing that his brother was just standing there, frowning and apparently trying to solve the riddle that was the location of their platform, Harry started to glance at the people coming and going from the two platforms, in an attempt to catch someone who was weirdly dressed – someone who looked like a wizard or witch. But he saw none.

"How many arches are there between the platforms?" abruptly demanded Tom, skewering him with a glance.

"What-?"

"Go – run! Count them!" commanded Tom briskly.

Harry blinked at him, but then quickly left his trunk behind and dashed through the crowd, nevertheless feeling quite miffed at Tom's tone of voice, which the boy frequently used with him, as if Harry was his pet puppy, who had to be good and obey or else.

Regardless, given the urgency of their situation, Harry did as he was told, and a few moments later he came back, panting for breath as he gasped out, "There're eight!"

Tom solemnly nodded. "Then it must be the sixth – six is three-quarters of eight."

Harry stared at him, finally realizing what Tom had figured out, if his brother was indeed right. And he didn't waste a single second in following Tom as the boy made his way towards the end of platform nine.

Counting them in their minds, they both finally halted before the sixth arch, which stood between the two platforms like a brick-wall column supporting the station's roof.

"So you think that's the entrance to the platform?" muttered Harry, inspecting it a bit warily. "How do we cross it, d'you suppose?"

Tom frowned, took a step forward and slowly pushed his hand against the bricks. Nothing happened, and Tom scowled.

Harry then decided to try for himself, though unlike his brother, he did it in a reckless manner because, really, they didn't have the time to do things cautiously and primly, like Tom had just done.

Thus, he threw a punch at the bricks, suppressing the instinct of closing his eyes against the oncoming pain. However, in the next moment, he blinked when his fist went through, and he stared at his wrist, which stuck out from the arch, while he felt the unseen part of his hand tingling.

With a gasp, Harry quickly withdrew his hand, gazing at it to make sure it was whole and unharmed. It was, thankfully.

"I see," muttered Tom. "So that's how it is." Then he shot a glance at him and said sharply, "You go first. It has to be quick, apparently - make a run for it."

Harry threw him a withering glare. "Right, I go first, because if something bad happens it will be my hide and not yours."

He then let out a huff but nevertheless complied, because spending time bickering with his prat of a brother would surely make them miss the train. And they had no idea how to get to Hogwarts if they did – they didn't even know where the school was, exactly.

Harry took several steps backwards, grasped his trunk, and then pelted forwards, tightly clenching his eyes shut as he made a straight run towards the arch.

The next second, he felt his body tingling and prickling unpleasantly, and then he smashed against something – someone, he realized, the moment he opened his eyes and found himself at the beginning of a platform.

There were lots of wizards and witches waving at a shinny scarlet train and at the children that were leaning out from windows, waving back – on a train that was puffing out smoke and already moving and leaving, he saw with alarm.

Harry then snapped his gaze up at the man he had careened into, and said urgently, "My brother is coming through – please move to a side!"

However, the man didn't comply. He was a wizard by the looks of him, tall, imposing, and broad-shouldered, with a cravat around his neck with a pearl pin, dressed in velvety black robes lined with soft, grey fur at the lapels, with a familiar-looking, blood red flower pinned in the middle of his chest. He had long, golden blonde hair peppered with grey tied at the back of his neck, and held a cane in his right hand, which had the silver head of a snake with a small crest displaying an ornate 'M'.

The wizard was staring down at him with a repulsed and enraged expression on his face, the man's blue eyes narrowing with contempt and hatred as he gazed at Harry's clothes.

"Mudblood," the man spat viciously, to then abruptly swing his cane forcefully at Harry's head.

Utterly taken aback by the startling and unprovoked attack, Harry ducked and managed to dodge the blow, as he yelled frantically, "What are you doing!"

The wizard snarled like a vicious beast, flinging his cane at Harry once more – and Harry just knew that if it struck him, he would be laying on the ground with a cracked skull.

Just then, Tom appeared with Lord Horkos and trunk in tow, unharmed, since thankfully, the deranged wizard had moved as he continued to attack Harry.

As Harry avoided another strike, he yelled frenziedly at his brother who was standing there with his mouth slightly parted open, blinking at the scene, "He's howling mad! I did nothing to him, I swear!"

"Filthy mudbloods!" hissed out the demented wizard, his cane up in the air ready for another volley, though this time it seemed that he would make Tom his target as well.

"What's going on there!" someone bellowed, and Harry saw that they had started to attract much attention, since a group of parents, wizards and witches, were making their way towards them.

Apparently, Tom and Harry had the same idea right then, because they grasped the opportunity and simply started running, fleeing from the loony.

Panting for breath, they made a mad dash – Harry could only see a few carriages still accessible from the platform, since most of the train was already outside, its speed increasing with every passing second.

Harry moved his short, skinny legs as fast as he could, though Tom was ahead of him, since the boy's taller height and thus longer limbs gave him an advantage.

Finally, Tom threw his trunk and owl's cage into the entrance of the last carriage. A second later, he had helpfully taken Harry's trunk and done the same, to then leap into the carriage himself, grasping a side-handle as he outstretched an arm.

"Grab my hand!" shouted Tom above the loud noise of the train's steam engine and speeding, rumbling wheels, a look akin to panic on his face as he gazed at his brother who was still madly running, trying to catch up.

With a last spur of energy, Harry jumped from the very end of the platform, for a second airborne and thus a bit worried as he flailed his limbs in mid-air, before Tom's hand shot out and grasped him by the wrist, yanking him into safety.

Harry smacked into his brother with the force of the pull, and they both tumbled down to the carriage's floor, gasping for breath.

"That was wicked!" wheezed out Harry, sprawled on top of Tom, a wide, exhilarated grin on his face.

"If you think that, then I should've let you smash into the train-tracks!" groused out Tom acerbically, shooting him a glare. "Get off, you idiot, your puny elbows are digging into my ribcage!"

Harry jumped to his feet and grasped his eyeglasses, which were precariously dangling from his left ear. He had nearly lost them.

He stuck them into place, pushing them up his nose, and then shot his brother a beaming smile. "You saved me."

Tom merely grunted at that, as he picked himself up from the floor and started to straighten out his clothes. He shot his brother a glance, as he frowned and murmured, "What do you think the nutter meant – by calling us 'mudbloods'?"

"I haven't the foggiest." Harry shrugged his shoulders. "It wasn't anything nice, though."

Tom frowned once more, but then simply commanded, "Let's find a compartment."

Taking hold of their trunks, and Lord Horkos' cage too in Tom's case, they started down the corridor of the carriage, seeing that all the children had already comfortably settled themselves. They didn't find a single compartment with spare space for them, and thus crossed to the next wagon.

Mid-way through it, Harry halted when he caught sight of Alphard Black and his cousin Orion, with a couple of other boys and plenty of extra room. Alphard paled when he saw Harry through the compartment's window, and even quickly shook his head at him, looking aghast.

Harry frowned, wondering what was wrong with his friend, and simply opened the door and stepped inside as he exclaimed enthusiastically, "Hullo - I hoped I would find you!"

To his perplexity, Alphard cringed and quickly glanced away from him, saying nothing.

"Who are these, Black?" said a smooth, low voice.

Harry snapped his head to a side and then halted in astonishment when he saw the boy who had spoken.

He didn't think he had ever seen someone like him before. The boy seemed to be as tall as Tom, with chin-length platinum hair and the strangest yet most beautiful eyes he had ever seen; they weren't light grey or pale blue – no, they were purely silver.

The boy was extremely good-looking, but not prettily beautiful in a feminine way like girls could be, but with the kind of unique handsomeness in a boy that made people look twice and then stare, gobsmacked.

Harry even caught sight of a signet ring on one of the boy's fingers, with a crest that looked exactly like the one on the deranged wizard's cane. He felt a bit of trepidation at that: perhaps they were related, and the wizard had been bonkers, so perhaps the boy was too.

Nevertheless, Harry couldn't stop staring. He felt weirdly dazed as he kept gazing at the boy without being able to peel his eyes away.

"He's no one, Abraxas," then said Alphard quickly, still without looking at Harry, his face pale.

Harry huffed angrily at that, shooting his friend a scowl – though evidently the boy wasn't his friend anymore, because Alphard was fixedly staring out the window as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear.

"I'm Harry Riddle," said Harry firmly, sticking out a hand as he jerked his chin towards Tom, who was standing behind his shoulder. "And he's my twin, Tom."

The boy – Abraxas, apparently– narrowed his eyes at them, his gaze trailing over their worn clothes. "Riddle… Riddle…." His silvery eyes then narrowed to slits, as if he had suddenly figured something out, and he hissed under his breath, "You're mudbloods."

"What's that supposed to mean?" snapped Harry, pulling his hand back and feeling irked beyond measure. That was twice that they were called that, as if it was the most grievous and horrid of insults and some ghastly, shameful fault of theirs.

"If you don't even know," said Abraxas in a low, sharp voice, his face pinched with disgust and anger, "then it further proves you're mudbloods." Then he leveled at them a glare of utter scorn and revulsion, and bit out forcefully, "Get out! Your kind isn't welcomed here."

"You're under the impression that you can order us around?" came a cool voice behind Harry. "Or force us to do as you wish?"

Harry glanced over his shoulder to see Tom skewering Abraxas with a narrowed-eyed gaze, his face with a chilling and hard expression on it.

"Oh, I can force you, alright," said Abraxas poignantly as he pulled out a wand from his robes' pocket.

"You can't use magic outside Hogwarts," pointed out Tom scathingly, shooting him a mocking, snide look.

"True," retorted Abraxas tersely, "but I don't need it." The next moment he shot a glance to the boy seated next to him, and snapped commandingly, "Avery!"

A hulking boy rose to his feet, his small, beady eyes glinting with a hungry, mean look of anticipation in them, as he fisted his meaty hands and menacingly cracked his knuckles.

"Touch us," hissed out Tom in a very low, quiet tone of voice, that made his words sound all the more scary and intimidating, "and I'll make you rue the day you were born."

His brother made no attempt to whip out his wand and cast whatever spells he had learned from Hogwarts' textbooks, if any were useful in such situation. Evidently, he didn't want to do anything that could possibly lead to his expulsion from magic school.

Moreover, Harry knew that Tom wouldn't resort to a physical attack with his fists, because his brother scorned such things. And honestly, his brother truly didn't know how to fight.

However, Harry was well aware that his brother didn't need his wand or fists to hurt people. The day in which Tom had made Dennis Bishop scream and writhe on the ground was still fresh in his mind. Furthermore, he had no idea if what Tom could do was magic that could be somehow detected. Tom was evidently betting that it wouldn't, and thus wouldn't lead to any negative consequences for him.

Nevertheless, Harry didn't want to find out.

"Drop it – it isn't worth it," he whispered as he grabbed Tom by his forearm. "Let's just leave."

Tom didn't pay him attention, he still had his blue-eyed gaze fixed on the Avery boy, gauging and challengingly. He almost looked feverishly giddy, as if he would relish the chance to do to the boy what he had done to Dennis – expression that alarmed Harry even further.

"Tom!" snapped Harry then, giving him a small shove towards the door. "We're leaving!"

He didn't give his brother the opportunity to refuse or protest, he kept shoving him until they were out of the compartment with their trunks in tow and with Lord Horkos shrieking at the rough handling of his cage.

Though, Harry did shoot Abraxas and his friends a scowl over his shoulder.

A boy on the corridor nearly crashed into them the moment they stepped outside, just as the compartment's door was slammed shut at their backs and the shade of its window was yanked down.

The ginger-haired boy glanced at them and then at the compartment's door, his lips twisting as he said wryly, "Malfoy and his cronies kicked you out?"

Harry blinked up at him. The boy was a few inches taller than him, though he was lanky instead of stout, with bright red hair and weird eyes; one was hazelnut brown, the other sky blue.

"Yeah," mumbled Harry, "we were looking somewhere to settle-"

"Oh!" The boy's expression brightened, and he shot them a warm, friendly smile. "My sister and I have a compartment all to ourselves. You're welcome to come, if you want."

"Sure!" piped in Harry, beaming a wide grin at him. "Thanks!"

"No problem," said the boy shrugging his shoulders, as he started down the corridor. "I'm Felix Prewett, by the way. And you are?"

Harry made their introductions, since Tom was merely following them in silence. No doubt, his brother was still angry and resentful after the 'disrespectful' way in which he had been treated by Abraxas and the others, surely brooding and planning what he would do in retaliation.

So Harry merely left his brother to his dark plots and merry thoughts of carnage and revenge.

"You're twins?" exclaimed Felix at the news. "My sister and I are too! We'll all be good friends, then, I'm sure." He shot Harry a wink. "We twins have to stick together, eh?"

Harry grinned at him, already liking the boy very much, since even though Felix was wearing robes that looked posh and expensive to his eyes, the boy was clearly the kind of friendly, unpretentious, and carefree sort.

When they stepped inside the compartment, Harry saw a girl with a book in her hands.

The moment she raised her head and glanced at them, Harry's eyes widened slightly and he felt a bit flustered.

She was Felix's twin, no doubt, but her features were more delicate, and her mismatched eyes made her look even more beautifully exotic and compelling. Not to mention that she also had ginger hair; long, cascading down in pretty ringlets, which made Harry want to touch them to see if they were as soft as they looked.

Abruptly, he felt Tom's gaze boring holes into him, and Harry quickly suppressed the urge, wary that his brother would openly mock him.

He had discovered he had a strange fascination for girls with red-hair, and Tom knew this well.

A year ago, a seventeen-year-old girl had stayed at the orphanage for a few weeks. The only parent she had had, her mother, had died and her relatives couldn't immediately pick her up. So the girl had stayed at St. Jerome's before her uncle from Manchester, or some such place, came to get her.

Harry didn't remember her name and not even her face. But he remembered how he had dazedly gazed at her, surreptitiously following her around the orphanage, simply wanting to see more of her – of her hair, more precisely. It had been long and prettily curly, too.

Back then, Tom had instantly noticed Harry's strange fascination, of course, and he hadn't stopped mocking and taunting him with anger and disdain, because according to him, Harry had trailed after the girl like a pathetic, love-sick puppy.

So now, Harry quickly ripped his gaze away from this girl before Tom could say anything, and he busied himself with stuffing their trunks under the seats.

"Felicity," said Felix as he helped out Harry, "these are Harry and Tom Riddle – they're twins!"

The pretty girl shot them an interested look at that, warmly smiling at them.

Doing the utmost to not see her, Harry finally flopped down on a seat, while Tom did the same after placing Lord Horkos in the privileged spot by the window. The beastly owl was apparently satisfied with the honor conferred to him, because he soon stopped angrily hooting and shrieking and settled down to gaze at the passing scenery.

However, once seated across from the Prewett twins, it was impossible not to meet the girl's gaze.

"Your eyes are pretty," suddenly blurted out Harry, in the next second blanching when he realized what had come out of his mouth, feeling utterly mortified.

Tom let out a snort of contempt, the girl's cheeks went pink, and Felix let out a peal of laughter, to then wriggle his eyebrows at Harry, as he intoned with vast amusement, "Think my sister is pretty, do you? She has loads of boys trailing after her, so you'll have competition!" Then he shot a smirk at his twin. "You've snared another one!"

"Oh, hush you!" Felicity snapped, slapping her brother upside the head. Then she turned to stare at Harry, leaning forward a bit as she peered at him. "You have pretty eyes too. They're green, are they not?" She flushed, as she added in a soft murmur, "They're lovely."

Harry felt his cheeks heating up and the tips of his ears turning red, he stammered something or other, and then decided to simply shut his mouth and sit still. He even saw Tom glowering at him and then glancing at the girl with masked dislike.

"Break it off, you love birds," piped in Felix, toothily grinning at them. "You'll have plenty of time to continue this budding romance at Hogwarts, so there's no rush."

His sister threw him a vexed look, but the boy forestalled any reprimand by shooting her a pointed glance, as he said in a low tone of voice, "I found them coming out from Abraxas Malfoy's compartment, you know."

"What did Abraxas do?" asked Felicity instantly, a frown on her face.

Before Felix could reply, Harry noticed the use of the boy's first name, and already having recovered from his chagrin, he said cautiously, "He's a friend of yours?"

Felicity huffed, snapping her book shut on her lap. "We were childhood friends - good friends, at that. With him, Neron Lestrange, the Blacks, and their sort."

"What changed?" inquired Tom softly, and Harry shot him a glance and saw the greedy glint in his eyes.

Then he understood his brother's sweet tone of voice. Of course Tom wanted to know as much as possible regarding his new 'rival'; the boy had the firm conviction that information was vital in order to swiftly and successfully take down an enemy.

"They changed, we changed," murmured Felicity. "Our families did, that is." She then shared a glance with her twin, trading some kind of silent conversation.

Felix adamantly shook his head, but a look of determination crossed Felicity's pretty features, and she said firmly to her twin, "They should know. It affects them, doesn't it?" Then she glanced at Tom and Harry and asked quietly, "You're muggleborns, aren't you? Given your clothes, you seem to be…"

She trailed off, looking a bit uncomfortable and then waiting for their reply.

"Muggleborns?" Tom stared at her intently. "What does that mean? Does it have something to do with the term 'mudblood'?"

Felicity went rigid, anger flickering in her mismatched eyes. "Abraxas called you that?"

Intrigued, Harry nodded in reply.

"He shouldn't have," she said hotly, then letting out a sigh. "Well, I'm not even surprised. Mudblood means muggleborn, yes, but the word is meant as an insult, and no one polite would say it."

"But what does it mean?" bit out Tom sharply, his look impatient.

Felicity shot him a startled glance, due to his tone of voice, no doubt.

Though Tom was quick to mend his error, and he beamed a gorgeous, charming smile at the girl, as he intoned softly, "Please, if you'd be so kind to tell me…"

The girl gazed at him, looking a bit entranced, her cheeks prettily flushing. And Harry scowled at his brother. He saw Tom's lips curling upwards, smugly, at Harry's reaction.

At that, Harry smoothed his expression – he wasn't going to give Tom the satisfaction.

He knew well that Tom was merely charming the girl to pump out as much information as possible from her. Tom had always considered girls, and women in general, to be stupid, vapid, and bothersome creatures not worth his notice.

Furthermore, it wasn't as if Harry was interested in Felicity – not in that way, he decided. After his experiences with Amy Benson, girls seemed utterly incomprehensible to him, and too much trouble. It even made him shudder.

He had never felt attracted to one either, not like Eric Whelley and other boys, who were always attempting to peek down girls' shirts. Perhaps he was too young still, to feel those urges, he wondered.

Regardless, he simply thought that Felicity was pretty, and he liked her hair and eyes, and merely wanted to be her and Felix's friend, if possible.

"Muggleborn are those who have two muggle parents," said Felicity calmly. "It's the opposite of pureblood. Felix and I are that - our parents are magical, purebloods themselves, and there has never been a muggle in our bloodline."

"I see," muttered Tom quietly, to then gaze at her as he gently prodded further. "Abraxas Malfoy and his friends are also purebloods?"

"Yes," she replied, her jaw clenching. "But they're dark purebloods…"

And Tom went on, gently and subtly pressing her for more, and Harry's brain soon became stuffed with too much convoluted information, with concepts that were too new to immediately make sense to him, as Felicity and her brother traded turns to answer all of Tom's questions.

"… purebloods are all related to one another, however distantly," said Felicity at some point. "It's inevitable because blood purity is very important to us – it's a matter of ensuring that wizarding kind doesn't become extinct, you know? So none of us would marry a muggle. And many purebloods even take it further and would never marry a muggleborn or even a halfblood."

"Our great grandaunt was a Malfoy, for instance," supplied Felix, when Tom wanted to know the difference between dark and light purebloods. "So even though we Prewetts have always had light magic coursing through our veins, we also have a bit of dark magic in us."

Felicity nodded, as she added, "And the type of magical blood we carry defines the kind of spells we can cast, and what we feel more akin to. For instance, charms, hexes, and jinxes can be cast by everyone, because they're pretty basic and don't require any special kind of magic. But powerful light spells, like the Patronus Charm, for example, usually can only be cast by light wizards, or those who have some measure of light magic from their ancestors. And the same happens with dark curses – dark wizards master them more easily and quickly, because they were invented by someone of their kind and for their specific use. Most light wizards wouldn't attempt to learn dark curses or wouldn't even manage to, if they wanted."

"And muggleborns?" interjected Tom, looking vastly interested and as if it all made much sense to him.

"Their case is peculiar," replied Felix musingly. "They have no problem doing normal light and dark spells, but it's said that they have difficulty in mastering those that are more complex and require more magical power." He shrugged his shoulder, and then shot Tom a sympathetic look. "Sorry mate, but muggleborns, like yourself, are never very powerful."

Tom looked utterly impassive at that, and when Harry opened his mouth to rectify the misconception that they were indeed muggleborns –since he wasn't too sure about that- he then kept quiet when his brother shot him a sharp, warning glance. It befuddled Harry, but he let it slide.

"I understand," said Tom, shooting the Prewett boy a warm look. "Then, basically, the difference between light and dark spells depends on whether the spell was made to be cast by a light or dark wizard, given the case?"

"Yes, in essence," replied Felix, before he briefly hummed pensively. "Though regarding a spell as light or dark became more messy when the Ministry of Magic was created, several centuries ago. You see, throughout time, when the Ministry had a light wizard as the Minister, they labeled many spells, potions, and curses as 'dark' not because a wizard required to have plenty of dark magic in him to be able to cast the spell or produce the potion, but because the potion or spell was used to harm people…"

"And in the political quarrel between light and dark wizards," piped in Felicity, effortlessly continuing his twin's explanation as if they shared one same mind, "the light-oriented Ministry decided to label those spells and potions as 'dark', giving the word a negative connotation and thus scoring one against their political opposition..."

Felix nodded his head. "Due to that, nowadays there are many spells labeled as 'dark', and even banned by the Ministry, because they've claimed that they require the user to have 'evil' intentions. For some horrid dark curses it's true, granted, but not for the majority of them."

"The same happens with some charms and many spells regarded as 'light' and harmless," interjected Felicity matter-of-factly. "There are many of those, if one is creative, that could be used to hurt people or even kill them. But because they aren't commonly employed for that, but rather to heal or do useful and practical things like making something float, for example, then they were never banned."

"I don't get it," finally cut in Harry, feeling his head throbbing. "You say you're light purebloods, but you seem in favor of these dark spells, potions, and spells you speak of."

"Well, I would never delve into the Dark Arts myself!" sputtered Felicity, looking appalled. "If you're not a dark wizard and don't know what you're doing, they can be seriously harmful to you. Many curses were only made to be used by dark wizards and they can lash back at you if you're not." Then she shrugged, as she added calmly, "But if they aren't used to hurt people, I have nothing against them. They're part of the Wizarding World's legacy - magical knowledge that our ancestors have gifted us with. Thus, the Dark Arts should be preserved and respected, even by those who don't use them, like us."

Felix nodded in agreement. "Our family is liberal minded in respect to muggles and muggleborns. We don't despise muggles though we wouldn't marry one, and we don't think that muggleborns shouldn't be allowed into our world or be forbidden from learning at our schools. However, we take seriously the upholding of our traditions and knowledge. We think blood purity is important and that the Wizarding World should be kept hidden from muggles."

"Is that why you stopped being friends with Abraxas Malfoy?" interjected Tom, his gaze piercing and extremely interested. "Because his family isn't 'liberal' and he despises muggleborns?"

"Sort of," replied Felix tersely, looking unwilling to say more.

"That's not the full extent of it," said Felicity softly, garnering a sharp glance from her twin, which made her snap her head around and say crossly, "They have a right to know! They're muggleborns and it affects them directly, as I said before!"

"Father told us not to speak about it, Lissie," bit out Felix pointedly.

"We can trust them, I'm sure," she said in clipped tones. And with that, she turned around to gaze at Harry and Tom. "It began when Dumbledore-"

"Dumbledore?" Harry blinked at her. "Professor Dumbledore?"

"Oh, you know him?" Felicity beamed at him. "Isn't he wonderful!"

"Er – yes, I suppose," muttered Harry without much conviction, a bit taken aback as well, by the girl's gushing tone of voice. "He was the one who came to our orph-"

"To our house," interrupted Tom smoothly. "He gave us our Hogwarts letters and explained to us and our muggle parents a bit about the Wizarding World."

Harry threw him a glance at that, his eyebrows shooting upwards, now seriously wondering why his brother insisted in making the Prewetts believe that they were muggleborns, when they didn't have solid evidence one way or the other.

It couldn't be just as simple as Tom not wanting anyone to know they were orphans, not when it came at the cost of everyone believing they came from two muggles. Especially given how much Tom looked down at muggles now, ever since his perpetual conviction of being superior to everyone around him had been validated when he had learned the word 'muggle' and what it meant from Dumbledore.

Thus, it had to be due to some manipulative reason and dastardly plot of Tom's, Harry concluded.

"He's the Transfiguration teacher at Hogwarts, you know?" carried on Felicity in admiring tones. "And the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster, but also so much more! He's a respected member of the Wizengamot and has done loads of wonderful things – like helping merfolk and the centaurs, and what he did for the Union of the Americas!"

She leaned towards them, and added in an excited whisper, "Many say he's one of the most powerful light wizards alive – and that he has all sorts of secret magical abilities! Most wizards wanted Dumbledore to become the Minister of Magic instead of Charlemagne McLaggen, you know? But Dumbledore gently refused – I'm sure it was because he's too much of a-"

"Gulping gargoyles, Lissie!" groused out Felix, looking thoroughly vexed. "No need to sing a sonnet about how marvelous, divine, and sublime you think he is! Our poor new friends don't need to know how much you adore the man. If you're going to tell them, then get on with it!"

"Fine," said Felicity shortly, looking disgruntled for a brief moment, before she glanced at Harry and Tom again. "The point is that Dumbledore started warning people about what was happening in Wizarding Europe - in the continent, that is. He warned people about Gellert Grindelwald."

At Harry and Tom's nonplussed expressions, she added quickly, "He's a dark wizard - he's the German Minister of Magic now." She let out an angered scoff. "That's what the man calls himself in public! But Father believes Dumbledore and so do I, and Dumbledore said that he's really a Dark Lord!"

"A what?" muttered Harry, befuddled.

"A Dark Lord is, usually, a wizard that self-proclaims himself as the leader of dark purebloods," replied Felix nonchalantly. "There have been several throughout history. They're always very powerful and are followed because of that, and because they usually uphold the most extreme of pureblood ideals – like getting rid of muggles and muggleborns. Most of them ended up doing terrible things."

He shot his sister a pointed glance, as he added, "Though there hasn't been one in ages and there's no proof that Grindelwald is one himself."

"So what do you think happened to Auntie Nettie, then?" snapped Felicity heatedly, glowering at her twin. "She just vanished from existence on her own accord, did she?"

Felix blanched at that, looking suddenly pale, and remained silent.

His sister scowled before she turned to face Harry and Tom again, her voice going very soft and quiet as she murmured, "Our Aunt Nettie was married to an Austrian wizard – he was an Auror, and they both lived in that country. The day that the news reached the English Ministry that the Austrians had 'agreed' to merge with the German Ministry of Magic, under Grindelwald's sole leadership, our Father knew something was not right. Father is the Head of the International Magical Cooperation Department in our Ministry, so he had inside information that implied that what had happened hadn't been at all peaceful, while the Daily Prophet and our own Minister were saying that no fighting had occurred in the Austrian Ministry and that no coercive force had been used by the German wizards."

She paused, taking a deep, steadying breath, before she continued, "So Father went to look for Aunt Nettie, in her home in Austria. He didn't find her or her husband, and when he went to the Austrian Ministry of Magic, he was told that Uncle had resigned from his job and that they didn't know where he was nor could be expected to know, since Uncle was no longer under their employment. Father never found either of them, and he discovered that many other Aurors and some other officials in the Austrian Ministry had also disappeared the day the Austrian wizards 'voluntarily' annexed themselves to the German Ministry of Magic."

Her jaw clenched as she gritted out through her teeth, "They were killed by Grindelwald – he killed those who opposed him and his followers when they took over the Austrian Ministry of Magic! Only the cowards remained unscathed. Dumbledore believes this and so does Father."

"Do you know if that happened the same day, or around the time, when the Nazis occupied Austria?" inquired Tom coolly, though there was something glinting in his eyes - Harry saw, and immediately discerned what it was.

His brother was giddy, exhilarated, and thrilled for some mysterious reason - it couldn't possibly be due to what Felicity had told them, Harry hoped, since it was quite awful.

"Nazis?" Felicity mumbled, looking confused. "Oh, those muggles!" She shook her head. "I don't know. We don't follow muggle news."

"It did happen the same day," interjected Felix, shooting Tom a curious glance, before he turned to his sister. "Father said so. And Dumbledore told Father that he believed Grindelwald was the mastermind behind it all, using German muggle troops to occupy the country at the same time that he sent his followers to raid the Austrian Ministry of Magic. We overheard them discussing it – remember?"

"Oh, you're absolutely right!" breathed out Felicity, her brown and blue eyes growing wide.

"Mastermind?" whispered Tom, his own eyes slightly widening as he fixedly stared at them with an odd expression on his face. The next moment, his eyes sparkled with triumph, as if their words validated some deep suspicions he had held for a long time.

Though he was quick to mask it the moment he saw Harry staring at him, frowning.

Tom cleared his throat, and intoned quietly, "And he's just one wizard, doing all these things? Is he very powerful, this Gellert Grindelwald? I suppose he knows all sorts of Dark Arts, as you call them, does he?"

"Um, yes," replied Felicity, blinking at him.

"I see," murmured Tom, the feverish, gleeful glint in his eyes not escaping Harry's notice.

Harry shook his head, deciding to ignore his brother's weird behavior, for the time being, and then glanced at the twins, a bit confused. "So you stopped being friends with Abraxas Malfoy and other dark pureblood children because of that? It couldn't have been their fault-"

"Of course it wasn't," said Felicity firmly, "but it was the last straw that broke the hippogriff's back."

At Harry's look of utter incomprehension, she elucidated further, "Our family had always been close with the Malfoys, the Blacks, and such, since the day when our ancestor married a Malfoy witch, centuries ago…"

"Those sorts of marriage matches," piped in Felix, "are to form alliances between families."

"Exactly," carried on Felicity, "so all was well between our families. But a couple of years back, when Dumbledore started saying that Grindelwald was dangerous, Father believed him and they became close friends. That started to cause problems between Father, Maximilian Malfoy and Pollux and Arcturus Black, because those wizards have always despised Dumbledore, and they didn't like that Father was getting all cozy with him…"

"And Father," added Felix coolly, "started suspecting that they knew about Grindelwald being a Dark Lord and that they were secretly supporting his cause by giving the wizard loads of galleons. Malfoy and the Blacks fiercely denied the accusation and they quarreled with our father…"

"And after that," continued Felicity, as she nodded at her twin, "he forbade us from going to their manors and playing with their children. And then Austria happened, and Aunt Nettie and Uncle disappeared, and Father began to openly support Dumbledore in the Wizengamot…"

"And Malfoy and the Blacks started calling Father a bloodtraitor for that," grumbled Felix angrily, "which further heated the quarrel between them."

"So now they hate Father," supplied Felicity shortly, "and he hates them back."

"Er…" said Harry, as the twins stared at him, apparently waiting for a reaction of some sort. "Um - it's understandable, I reckon."

They beamed at him, with such identical grins and expressions that Harry blinked.

"I'm still not convinced," said Felix then, as if wanting to explain himself to Harry, "that Grindelwald is a Dark Lord, but nevertheless I-"

"You're not 'convinced'," quipped Felicity, but her tone wasn't angry or chiding this time, but rather playfully taunting, "because you hope it isn't true – because the possibility scares you."

Felix shot her a shameless, toothy grin. "True. But my point is that I still support what Father did." He fiercely scowled. "Being accused of being a bloodtraitor is the worst insult for a pureblood. Father took it very hard. And it's unforgivable. The whole issue started a feud between us, Prewetts, and the Malfoys in particular, because Pollux and Arcturus Black follow old Maximilian Malfoy's lead…"

"And feuds between wizarding families," piped in Felicity, "are a very serious matter – they can last for centuries and many generations. So Old Malfoy also has the fault for starting something so grave."

Harry nodded, though he couldn't quite fully understand what it meant for them. Then, he shot a glance at his brother, who had been strangely quiet all that time.

He saw, though, that Tom appeared to be immersed in his own thoughts. And most disturbing of all, the boy was unseeingly staring at some point in the air, his lips curled into a smirk, as if whatever was swirling in his mind was giving him much satisfaction.

Harry eyed him suspiciously, but he was yanked away from his efforts, the very next second, when a voice suddenly called out from the corridor.

"Anything from the trolley, dears?"

The Prewett twins jumped to their feet at the same time, wide grins on their faces, as Harry glanced at them in bewilderment.

Felicity took notice of his expression, and she said quickly, "She sells all sorts of candies - they're magical! Don't you like sweets?"

"I do!" affirmed Harry immediately, his eyes wide with anticipation as he started to search for his leather pouch – for candies, he was very willing to spend the couple of galleons left in his leather pouch, there was no thinking twice about it.

"Don't bother," said Felix, waving a hand dismissively, "it will be our treat!" He shot his sister a toothy grin, as he added, "Won't it, dearest twin of mine?"

"Oh, yes, brother darling!" chirped Felicity, as she repeatedly nodded her head. "We'll buy bunches of all sorts and make him try them all." She beamed at Harry. "It will be your introduction to the magical world of wizarding candies! But you'll have to try them all without complaint, that's the deal!"

As soon as she said that, both Prewett twins shot him identical manic grins that made Harry shudder with wariness.

And thus, all conversation about Dark Lords, wars, deaths, and whatnot, were soon forgotten in lieu of the Prewett twins grinning and chortling and letting out peals of guffaws, every time Harry tried a different sweet.

The Pepper Imps made Harry belch out short puffs of fire, as steam gushed from his ears. When he chewed on Drooble's Best Blowing Gum, the compartment became filled with bluebell-colored bubbles that kept popping out of his mouth. The Fizzing Whizbess popped and crackled in his mouth, and made him levitate and placidly float a feet from his seat – they soon became his utmost favorite!

When he bit down on the exploding bon-bons, Harry opened his jaw wide so that the twins could see the tiny fireworks that were bursting in his mouth, making him all tingly and giddy. And when he munched down on a cockroach cluster, believing it was just made of chocolate, he had to splutter out the insect that he had suddenly felt moving inside his mouth, leaving him thoroughly disgusted and horrified.

Tom had taken the safest route and politely declined what the twins so cajolingly offered to him. Harry didn't think his brother did so merely because he disdained all sweets in general.

Finally, Harry managed to extricate himself from trying more bizarre sweets for the twins' entertainment, and chose the candy that looked the most innocent of all.

Indeed, he happily munched down two chocolate frogs, managing every time to swiftly grasp the frog in mid-air as it leaped and tried to make its bid for escape.

And even though, after having perused most of his Hogwarts books, he had become accustomed to seeing moving wizarding pictures and such, he was still thoroughly surprised by the chocolate frog cards, and then thrilled as he read them.

He soon shoved them into Tom's hands, as he said smugly, feeling utterly vindicated, "Not all of Alice's tales were rubbish! See? See?"

The first card had a moving picture of Malodora Grymm. A witch of the Middle Ages, who used a beautification potion to conceal her true ugly form, married a king, and used a charmed mirror to reinforce her self-image. Then became jealous of the most beautiful girl in the land and fed her a poisoned apple.

The second was of Leticia Somnolens. This spiteful hag of medieval times was jealous of the king's daughter, and caused her to prick her finger on a spindle tainted with a Draught of the Living Death. A young wizard, who had smeared his lips with Wiggenweld potion, kissed the princess and brought her back from her eternal sleep.

After Tom read them, though, the boy looked utterly unimpressed, and merely snidely scoffed as he flung them back at Harry.

Well, Harry knew that he couldn't have expected much else – Tom was too much of an arrogant git to admit that Harry had been right.

Nevertheless, Harry carefully pocketed the cards, treasuring them, because what they said were proof that the Magical World was indeed a land of fantasy, only that the 'fantasy' aspects were produced by potions, spells, charms and such. And Harry liked that even more, because it meant that if he learned how to do them, then he could fit in in that wondrous world were the unimaginable was possible, and thus feel he belonged.

Afterwards, their conversation inevitably turned to Hogwarts, but Harry didn't refuse to hear the Prewett twins telling them about the bits they knew.

It was impossible to not want to listen to the ginger-haired twins' cheerful conversation and good-natured bickering, so he found out about the Four Houses, the system of points, the Quidditch Cup, the hierarchy of Prefects and Head Boys and Girls, and the annual point competition for the House Cup.

"We still don't know," said Felicity, as she bit down on a sugar flobberworm by the middle, tearing half of it and starting to munch it down, "how the Sorting into the Houses happens."

"Our parents wouldn't tell us." Felix nodded, popping a cauldron pasty into his awaiting mouth.

"But we managed to glean that it's done by a magical artifact of some sort." Felicity's mismatched eyes grew big, as she gestured with the bit of the sugar flobberworm that was left, flailing its tail in mid-air. "Imagine that! I could be anything. And who knows what the thing does to us!"

"'Hogwarts: a History' doesn't say anything about the Sorting, either," groused out Tom, looking utterly annoyed that for once he wouldn't have information beforehand, and thus would be caught unawares and unprepared.

"Our cousin, Ignatius Prewett," said Felicity then, as she finally popped into her mouth the rest of the sugar flobberworm, "finished Hogwarts last year, and he was a Ravenclaw. And Mother says that I have a Raven's mind too." She scrunched up her small button-nose. "But I rather not end up there. They're too boring and stuffy, from what I've heard."

"Very true!" piped in Felix, nodding adamantly, to then shoot his twin a toothy grin. "But we have another cousin, Muriel, and she's a Gryffindor in seventh year. So our prospects are good."

"Oh, yes! It's the Gryffindors who have all the fun, apparently."

"So that's where we want to end up," they then chorused together, beaming a smile at each other.

"And you?" said Felicity, shooting Harry an interested glance. "In which House would you like to be?"

"Um - they all sound good to me, from what you've said about them," said Harry, then shrugging his shoulders. "I don't mind which is it, as long as it's the same as Tom's."

At that, Tom shot him an utterly pleased, satisfied smirk. Though Harry didn't see how his brother hadn't already known how he felt about it. Really, now that they weren't in the orphanage, he considered that 'home' was his brother. And he could think of anything worse than spending the next seven years separated from his twin, in different Houses. If there was something he could do about it, he would make sure they stayed together.

"I completely understand you," said Felix, nodding in sympathy and agreement. "I couldn't bear it if I wasn't with Lissie."

"Nor I without Felix," breathed out Felicity, her expression aghast as if simply considering the possibility was too horrid to be borne.

"And you, Tom?" piped in Felix, shooting the boy a scrutinizing glance.

"Slytherin House, of course," said Tom coolly, arching an eyebrow, his conviction as solid and hard as rocks. "It's the only worthy one, from what I've read."

At that, Harry snapped his head around to shoot him a miffed, indignant glare.

"The House of the cunning and ambitious," quipped Felix, quizzically gazing at Tom, to then grin toothily. "Yep, I can easily see you there."

"Um... I don't know about that," interjected Felicity hesitantly, eyeing Tom closely. "I've never heard of a muggleborn being sorted into Slytherin. If you are, it won't be easy for you. The purebloods will make your life a nightmare, no doubt."

Tom imperiously waved a hand dismissively, his expression one of absolute arrogance and self-confidence, as he intoned nonchalantly, "I can manage, I'm sure."

"And what?" snapped Harry, scowling at him. "I'll have to 'manage' too? You want me to end up there with you? It doesn't sound all that nice, given what Felicity has just said-"

"It's you who wants to end up there," interjected Tom impassively, arching an eyebrow at him. "Where I go, you go - that's what you said, basically."

"Oh, I see," bit out Harry hotly. "But I wasn't expecting that you'd decide which House you wanted and then expected me to follow like an obedient pet. I expected you to say that you also wanted to be wherever I was…"

The Prewett twins gazed at them in fascination, their mismatched eyes snapping from one to the other. Evidently, they enjoyed Tom and Harry's bickering as much as Harry had felt amused by theirs.

However, the Riddles' kind of 'bickering' was much different from the Prewetts'; certainly, it was tempestuous most of times and could turn dangerous and even vicious, given the boys' clashing personalities – Harry's stubbornness and short-temper and Tom's arrogance and high-handedness, in particular.

"It doesn't matter," finally interrupted Felicity in mollifying tones, "which House you'd like to choose. It's the magical artifact that will choose for you, that much we know. There's no point arguing about it."

Harry snapped his mouth shut at that, and merely huffed, shooting his brother one last scowl, just to let Tom know that -even though what the girl said was apparently true- he still resented him for being such a selfish prat.

Gratefully, any further arguments were forestalled when they heard a Prefect going down the corridor, announcing that they would soon be reaching Hogwarts' station.

The three boys immediately pulled their school robes from their trunks and then took turns in the carriage's toilet stall, to change their clothes, while they left the use of their compartment to Felicity.

In no time at all, they were all towing their trunks and cages out of the train.


	14. Part I: Chapter 13

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

AN:

Thanks to all the readers who sent reviews with their choice of a House for Harry, and those who voted in the poll while it worked. It helped a lot! You'll soon see which House won : )

On another note, a couple of reviewers had some questions, but I won't reply this time since they will be answered as the fic advances – I don't want to spoil things for you ^_^

This chapter is shorter than the rest. I thought it would be best to post what I had written so far instead of making you wait for another week or so for a longer chapter.

 **Important:**  A reviewer pointed out to me that the fic is moving too slowly and that it could get tedious. This worries me, I'll admit, so I would like to know what you'd prefer: to see how the boys progress through their school years, more or less in the same pace as now, or to have a time-skip and see them in 4-5th year? Or perhaps some other alternative? I don't know - I just don't want it to feel boring or too drawn-out. So please let me know.

That said, I hope you enjoy this!

* * *

**Part I: Chapter 13**

* * *

Children of all ages were pushing their way through the small station's platform, while Harry shivered in the cold night air.

He wrapped his robe tighter around his body, for once grateful that Tom had insisted on buying one set of school robes from Monsieur Ermenegilde's.

His expensive robe was plain black and fitted him well, and surely made him look posh – as Tom had intended- but the important aspect was that it was made of a very warm material, and so velvety and soft to the touch that Harry wouldn't mind bunching up the robe to use it like a pillow, to contently rub his face against it like a pleased, purring cat.

"Leave your trunks and cages over here!" suddenly called out a squeaky voice.

Harry glanced at the wizard who had suddenly appeared in their midst, with a lamp dangling from his hand. The man was very plump and short, barely a few inches taller than Harry, wearing brown woolen clothes, and with such a bushy beard that only his eyes could be seen.

"The house-elves will take your luggage up to your dorm rooms after the Sorting," added the wizard in his high-pitched voice. "Hurry up now!"

"Elves?" Harry blinked, his eyes then widening with amazed astonishment. "Did he really say elves?"

However, Tom didn't hear him. His brother was already several feet ahead of him, dropping his trunk at one side of the platform, next to the large pile of luggage that had already been left there by the older students.

Harry quickly advanced forward to do the same, and just when Tom had carefully placed Lord Horkos' cage on top of his trunk, looking reluctant to leave his pet behind, the short wizard spoke again.

"First years, gather around – gather around!"

They soon complied, and Harry saw that there had to be about forty children or so, in all.

"I'm Figwig Ogg, the Keeper of the Keys and Grounds of Hogwarts," announced the plump wizard congenially. The man's smile was hidden by his overlarge, bushy beard, but there was no mistaking the kindness and welcoming warmth in his eyes. "Now follow me for your first trip across the Black Lake – no dawdling behind, if you please!"

They all trailed after the man, whispering and murmuring with excitement, while Harry saw that the older children had taken another path that veered to the right. Even from a distance, he could see that those students were taking open carriages that were being pulled by very weird-looking, skinny horses - they even had leathery wings, it seemed.

Just when Harry was going to quicken his pace to catch up with the Prewett twins, who were up ahead, Tom grasped his forearm, pulling him back towards him.

"We're not going with them," whispered Tom sharply.

"What –" Harry snapped his head around to stare at him, incredulously. "You don't like Felix and Felicity?"

"Do you even need to ask?" scoffed out Tom, to then shoot him a sneer at his stupidity, apparently.

"Someday, you'll have to get friends," groused Harry, following his brother along the path, far from the ginger-haired twins.

Though, he was determined that he wouldn't let Tom pull him away from the Prewetts once classes started – that would distract his brother and make it easier for him to slip away.

"You can't still keep me all to yourself, you know?" continued Harry, highly miffed. "It's not healthy! And you need some other friend besides me."

"You aren't a friend, but my twin," snapped Tom sharply, narrowing his eyes at him. "So I have every right to 'keep you all to myself', as you put it." His eyes further narrowed to slits, as he hissed out poignantly, "And I don't even do that. I don't know how you dare accuse me of it, as if I needed you-"

"But it's true," quipped Harry, impishly grinning at him. "You do need me - you like me, you could've never wished for a better brother than me, and you know it. And you're scared that someday I'll like someone more than you, and that I'll have a new best friend and ditch you."

Tom fiercely glowered at him, looking murderous. But then, the steep, narrow path they had been following suddenly opened onto the edge of a great lake, with a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore.

"No more than four to a boat!" loudly warned Mr. Ogg.

Harry grasped the opportunity -before his brother could retaliate with some nasty retort- and he dashed away, cheerfully calling out over his shoulder, "First one to make it to a boat is owed a galleon!"

He quickly climbed into the first boat he saw, which was already occupied by a boy and a small girl, sitting apart from each other.

Glancing back, though, he saw that Tom hadn't bothered to take up his challenge. His brother was leisurely making his way towards him, coolly sauntering as if he had all the time in the world.

The second Tom finally climbed in, being the last child to finally settle, Figwig Ogg, standing in another boat all by himself, squeaked merrily, "Forward we go!"

And the fleet of little boats moved off all at once, gliding across the lake, which looked as smooth and unperturbed as glass.

"You owe me a galleon," was the only thing Harry whispered smugly to Tom, before he snapped his eyes forward, to gaze at what could be seen in the distance, across the lake.

There was a high mountain on the other side, and perched atop it, a vast castle with many turrets and towers, its windows shinning in the starry sky. Harry's eyes widened as he stared at it, mesmerized. It even seemed to him that the castle glowed with streaks of many colors, as if it had an enormous sparkling mantle draped over it.

"What was that?" cried out a shrilly voice. "I saw something there!"

Harry's head snapped around to glance at their companion. Tom and he had taken the front of the boat, and at the back were a boy and girl, seated at opposite sides.

The boy had a rich cloak on top of his robes, lined with heavy fur, and had a contemptuous expression on his face, his nose stuck up in the air.

But it had been the girl who had spoken; plain looking, with lank hair, pimples and thick eyeglasses. She was squatting away from the edge of the boat, pointing a shaky finger at the water.

"There! Something's there!" she abruptly screamed hysterically, flinging herself to a side.

Their boat lurched and dangerous rocked to the right, water spilling over the edge and splashing them.

"You stupid girl, stop moving!" snapped the boy at her side, roughly shoving her off him.

"There's something lurking in the water!" she shrieked frenziedly, as she let out a high-pitched sob. "I want off this boat! Make it turn back! Make it turn back NOW!"

"Shut up, you idiot!" hissed out Tom furiously. "There's nothing in the water – stop screaming and sit still!"

Just then, a huge tentacle broke out from the surface of the water, for a brief moment, and the girl jumped in the air, letting out a strident, terrified wail that made Harry wince, his eardrums nearly popping.

"It's just the Giant Squid, you lamebrain!" bit out the boy next to her, scowling. "It's harmless."

"I want to get off this boat! I want to go home – I want to go home now – this is horrid!" the girl continued to wail, shriek, and bemoan, looking out of her wits as she frenziedly grasped the edges of the boat, letting out loud, weeping sobs.

"Then get off the boat!" snapped Tom angrily. "Do us a favor and fling yourself over the edge before you make us capsize!"

At that, something ugly seemed to posses the girl, because her sobs abruptly halted and she snapped her head around to glare at Tom, her expression thunderous as she bellowed, "Right! Let's shove silly, weeping, sobbing Myrtle off the boat, because she's nothing but a pest!"

Harry blinked at the barmy girl, thoroughly perplexed by her sudden mood-swing. She was mad as a hatter, this one!

Tom looked ready to leap at her and throttle her. Though, instead, his brother gave him a small shove, as he commanded briskly, "Harry, deal with her. Calm her down before she overturns the boat."

Harry nearly toppled over his seat at Tom's push, but he managed to grip the edge of the boat, steadying himself, before he shot his brother an incredulous look, aghast. "What? Why me-"

"Because you're good with people," hissed out Tom in an angry whisper, "with stupid idiots like her. So do it!"

"I don't know how to deal with crying girls!" whispered back Harry sharply. "And she's a loony!"

"A loony!" cried out the girl, evidently having overheard him, shooting him a look of pure fury. "Bonkers, am I? A nutter, batty, off my rocker, raving mad, am I!"

Harry stared at her, his mouth hanging open. The other boy had pushed himself as far away from the girl as possible, a sneer of disdain on his face. While Tom sat there, boring holes into Harry, pressing him to take action.

Finally, Harry huffed. Cowards, those two. So he crawled to the back, taking the seat the other boy had left, and then warily met the gaze of the deranged girl.

"Look," he said as gently as he could, shooting her his best friendly smile, "just calm down, alright? Let's just-"

"Let's just what?" she snapped, glowering at him through her thick spectacles, before she spat accusingly, "You're going to shove me off the boat, aren't you? That's why you've come to sit with me – to make me think you want to be my friend, but you'll just push me over!"

"No one's going to do anything to you," he gritted out with irritation. He took a deep, steadying breath, and added soothingly, "Let's just calm down." He shot her a wide smile. "I'm Harry Riddle. What's your name?"

"I already said it!" bit out the girl. "Or are you deaf as well as dumb?"

Harry's jaw clenched, but he strived for patience, and then said kindly, "Myrtle, right? But what's your full name?"

The girl eyed him suspiciously, and then said sharply, "Why? Want to mock me?" She pointed a finger at the other boy and Tom, as she added shrilly, "Will you make jokes about me with your friends, and call me names, and make fun of me!"

"Of course not," said Harry very gravely.

"Fine," said the girl briskly, to then peer at him closely through her thick glasses. "I'm Myrtle Mimbletinon."

Harry's lips twitched, but he managed to keep his expression smooth.

In the next second, before he could say anything more, the girl's brief moment of relaxation vanished, as she started again to snap her head to one side and the other, her eyes wide and terrified as she scrutinized the surface of the lake.

Seeing this, Harry intoned soothingly, as he gestured at the other boy who had been quick to take a seat besides Tom, "That chap said that it was only a giant squid, and that there was nothing to fear."

Myrtle spun around on her seat, to whisper sharply, "It wasn't a tentacle what I saw at first." Then she let out in a low, strident wail, "It was some kind of hideous creature – a monster! Staring at me from under the water!"

Just as if her words had summoned it, right by their side of the boat, a head popped out of the water, with very long, knotted hair, its features wrinkled and ugly, a thin-lipped mouth revealing very sharp, jagged teeth.

"The monster has come for me again!" wailed Myrtle, jumping on Harry and making their boat dangerously swing from side to side, as she desperately clung to him. "Save me!"

"It's a mer-maid!" shouted the boy by Tom's side.

Abruptly, just as Harry kept staring at the creature, blinking, he saw its features changing, and he was suddenly gazing at the face of a mesmerizingly beautiful woman, with long, silky, pink hair and striking purple eyes, her full lips curving into a tantalizing smile.

"Don't look at it, you fool! What are you, a muggleborn, that you don't know what it does?"

Someone grabbed Harry by the arm, pulling him away and shaking him violently, but he couldn't stop gazing dazedly at the woman, her head moving closer and closer to his side of the boat, her beautiful purple eyes fixed on him.

"It's a female merfolk," continued yelling the other boy, "she becomes beautiful to entice you and then drag you into the depths, into their lair, to eat you! Stop staring at it, you dolt!"

"Harry!" bellowed Tom into his ear, angry and anxiously.

Harry blinked, and then peered up at his brother, who had his arms around him, panting hard, and was now also scowling down at him.

Then he glanced around, perplexed, yet soon realizing that at some point they had all moved to the opposite side of the boat, and Tom had apparently dragged him with them. That edge of their boat was dangerously close to the water now. And it didn't help matters that Myrtle was sobbing, wailing, and moaning in distress and fear.

"The Giant Squid will surely appear soon," rushed out the other boy. "That's what it does – keeps the merfolk under control, so that they don't prey on the students."

Except Myrtle, they all kept a tense and wary silence, not for a moment looking over the other side of the boat where the mer-maid no doubt lurked.

A moment later, as prophesized by the boy, a large tentacle shot out from the water and then splashed down. A horrible screech reverberated all round them, so earsplitting that they all cringed and slapped their hands over their ears.

There was blissful silence after that, and they all let out deep sighs of relief, taking back their seats, except Myrtle who clung to Harry like an eel, as she moaned and let out wailing sobs.

Finally, their boat reached the cliff on which the castle stood and it carried them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening on the cliff's face. They sailed along a dark tunnel, which seemed to be taking them right underneath the castle, until they reached a kind of underground harbor.

The moment their boat struck shore, they all quickly clambered out onto rocks and pebbles; the boy whose name they still didn't know bolting away without sparing them a backward glance.

"Harry –wait!" called out Myrtle, quickly taking a hold of him. She sharply stared up at him through her thick glasses. "You'll be my friend now, right?"

"Sure," said Harry beaming a smile at her. Though not if he could help it. He had had enough of her to last him a lifetime.

He gently extricated his arm from her clutches, as he said calmly, "I'll see you tomorrow. Now I must go with my brother."

And with that, he scampered off, dashing and catching up with Tom, as all the children followed Mr. Figwig Ogg through a passageway in the rocks. They soon came out onto smooth, damp grass, right in the shadow of the castle. Then they took a flight of stone steps and crowded around the huge oak front doors.

There, the Groundskeeper left them in the hands of a very scary looking man who gruffly introduced himself as the Caretaker of Hogwarts, Apollyon Pringle. He was a swarthy and scruffy looking man, rail-thin, his skin leathery, with a red patch covering his left eye, a wooden leg that clanked with every step he took, and a crow perched on his shoulder.

The man introduced his beloved pet as 'Rascal the Corvus' -while the creature gazed at them with its small, beady orange eyes, with a distinct malevolent gleam in them- and warned them with much relish that Rascal always found any students who violated the rules, misbehaved, or broke curfew, and would savagely peck them until they bled and even gouge out their eyes if they weren't careful.

Then Mr. Pringle led them into the castle, and Harry's attention was soon snatched.

From the moment he stepped inside, his eyes had widened, the streaks of colors that he had seen the castle glowing with from a distance, now fully revealed before him.

They were everywhere, like a marvelous lattice, spanning like swirls or thin cords or veins along the floors, across the ceilings, and throughout the walls; braids of silver and emerald, yellow and black, blue and bronze, or crimson and gold. They glowed, they shone, and they thrummed.

And his skin felt prickly, like had happened in Diagon Alley, particularly in Ollivander's store. But while the feeling had been heavy and oppressive in the wandshop – as if the place had been too small and stuffy to contain it- the feeling in Hogwarts was soft, warm, and airy, as if the magic freely floated and flowed throughout the vast spaces, and much more vibrantly and powerfully.

However, it didn't escape his notice that one seemed to see it, not even Tom.

The children didn't gape, mesmerized, at the flagged stone floors and walls. They whispered about the gigantic hog statue they had come across at the entrance, or the magnificent moving marble staircases they could now see above them, or the magical portraits and landscapes hanging high up above their heads in rows upon rows, becoming smaller in the far distance. But none of them murmured about the streaks of colors everywhere.

So when the Caretaker halted before the grand, parted double doors of what he called the Great Hall, and commanded them to wait in silence until the Sorting Ceremony commenced, Harry tugged on Tom's robes and dragged him till they were at the very end of the crowd of first years, several feet behind them.

"Stop pulling me!" snapped Tom angrily. "What's the matter with you?"

Harry dropped his hand from his brother's sleeve, frowned at him, and pointed a finger at the wall they had before them, as he demanded, "Don't you see it?"

Tom glanced around, and then shot him an annoyed scowl. "See what?"

"You really don't see the colors? The streaks – on the wall?" murmured Harry, eyeing him with agitation.

"What are you yammering on about?" bit out Tom briskly. "There are no colors, just plain stone." He let out a disdainful snort. "You've gone round the bend!"

Harry mutely shook his head and then intently gazed at the wall again. Right before his eyes, it was vibrating and pulsing with the braids of colors – he wasn't imagining things!

He took a step forward, and then pressed the palm of his hand against the stones. His fingers and hand were instantly suffused with tingling warmth, the lattice of colors spanning across the wall suddenly expanding and contracting under his touch, as if it were breathing.

"It's alive," he breathed out, his green eyes wide as moons and riveted.

Tom shot him a glance, and then mimicked mockingly in a high-pitch, "It's alive!" Then he scoffed snidely. "What – you're Dr. Frankenstein now?"

"What?" said Harry bewildered. Then he fiercely scowled at him. "No, you idiot! I see bloody colors! I think its magic, and I can feel it more intensely when I touch the wall, too."

"You've lost your marbles-"

Irked beyond measure, Harry brusquely grabbed Tom's hand and forcefully pushed it against the wall, glancing up at him as he snapped, "You don't feel anything either?"

But then, an odd expression crossed Tom's face; the boy blinked, and then frowned.

Harry dropped his hand from Tom's, and fixedly gazed at him, scrutinizing. "Well – do you feel something or not?"

Tom didn't say anything, but in a second he had yanked his hand away, taking a step back and then scowling up around him, as if expecting something to be lurking above, ready to jump on him. He looked suspicious, wary, and angry.

"You did feel something," whispered Harry sharply, skewering him with his gaze. "What was it?"

Looking disconcerted for a moment, Tom glanced at him, then his jaw clenched and he gritted out, "I think the bloody thing is sentient. Something brushed my mind, like a ruddy caress." He shuddered, and then sneered, "It was warm and embracing, as if it was joyfully welcoming me. It had no business doing that to me!"

Harry gaped at him, and said astonished, "The castle spoke to you?"

Tom rounded on him like a puffed up, bristling cat, spitting, "No, it didn't  _speak_  to me, you halfwit! It's a bloody building! Since when do-"

"Dumbledore said Hogwarts was a good example of an enchanted castle," ground out Harry. "Remember?"

"He didn't say it was alive and sentient, though," hissed out Tom angrily, glowering at him. "Did he?"

Harry stared at him with big eyes. "So you  _do_  think it's alive?"

"I don't know," bit out Tom churlishly, then glancing up uneasily as if expecting that the castle would suddenly strike him down with a lighting bolt, "but I don't like it - not one bit."

Harry scowled at him, miffed. "I don't see why not. It 'touched your mind', as you put it, and welcomed you." He paused and then complained with a disappointed whine, "How come it didn't do that to me?"

"And how come you see colors," groused out Tom disgruntled, "it's magic, apparently, and I don't?"

Harry stared at him. "Er – well, you have a good point there."

"Of course I do," said Tom, looking furious. "And I rather see things than have my mind attacked – I can assure you of that!"

"It didn't attack you," pointed out Harry sensibly, rolling his eyes. "It welcomed you, you said."

Tom briskly waved a hand with vexed irritation. "Same difference."

Harry shot a glance at the crowd of children a few feet away from them, and murmured quietly, "But no one seems to be aware of it, though."

"Best keep it to ourselves, then," said Tom firmly, a deep frown on his face.

Then, Tom quickly grabbed Harry by the hand, pulling him towards the group of awaiting children and apparently deciding they had had enough weirdness and excitement for one day.

Through the sea of bodies of the children, Harry managed to take a peek inside the Hall, and he gazed in fascination. The impossibly high ceiling was transparent, showing a velvety black sky dotted with countless stars. The hall itself was lit by thousands of candles that floated in mid-air, above four long tables where the rest of the students were sitting. At the top of the hall was another long table facing the students, where a row of adult wizards and witches sat – they had to be the teachers. And right in front of it was a four-legged stool, with a pointed wizard's hat on top – very patched, frayed, and dirty looking.

Just then, the hat suddenly twitched, a rip near the brim opened wide like a mouth, and it began to sing. Harry gawked.

When the song ended, having basically revealed the attributes of each House that he had already learned from the Prewett twins, everyone in the Great Hall loudly applauded. And then, at last, one of the teachers –Dumbledore, he saw- stood next to the stool, with a roll of parchment in hand, and called out the first name.

It was Thaddeus Avery, the hulking, bully of a boy that Abraxas Malfoy had ordered to throw Harry and Tom out of the compartment. The hat was placed on the boy's head for a split second, before it bellowed, "Slytherin!"

A girl was called next, and then Alphard Black. This time, the hat twitched and shifted on top of the boy's hair for a few moments, but at last also sorted the boy in Slytherin, which garnered a round of constrained applause from the table with the students with green and silver ties.

Alphard's handsome cousin, Orion Black, followed afterwards, and it just took the hat two or three seconds to yell "Slytherin!" again.

And so the Sorting continued, with Harry only paying attention to those he knew from sight or brief acquaintance.

A tall, broad-shouldered boy with curly dark hair and brown eyes was called at some point, and Harry recognized him as one of those who had been with Abraxas Malfoy.

He was Neron Lestrange, apparently, and Harry remembered that Felicity had mentioned him in particular, as one of twins' former childhood friends. Unsurprisingly, the boy was also sorted into Slytherin, soon followed by Abraxas Malfoy.

"McLaggen, Tiberius!" was called out next, and a frisson of excitement ran throughout the Hall, many looking excited, envious, awed, or resentful.

"…he's the Minister's grandson!" someone said breathlessly.

Harry blinked when he saw that it was the boy who had been in their boat. The boy strutted down the Hall like an arrogant peacock, with his nose stuck up in the air - a pompous prig that one, no doubt, Harry decided.

"Ravenclaw!" the hat yelled as soon as it touched McLaggen's head.

The Ravenclaws, who thus far hadn't hooted and clapped as boisterously as the Gryffindors or as warmly welcoming as the Hufflepuffs, erupted into a long round of applause and cheers, looking extremely proud and smug of their new member.

The girl Myrtle Mimbletinon was next, and to Harry's astonishment, she was sorted into Ravenclaw as well. But none of her housemates seemed to even notice her, since they were still patting McLaggen on the back as the boy took a seat among them.

Soon, it was Felicity Prewett's turn, and then Felix's. With Felicity, the Hat took several seconds; with her brother, it announced it immediately. They were both sorted into Gryffindor and their rowdy housemates welcomed them very cheerfully and excitedly.

Harry saw that there was one girl in particular who had stood up and clapped the loudest; she was older, plump, with auburn hair and brown eyes, with a golden badge pinned on her robes displaying the letter 'H'. She was the Head Girl, then, and had to be Muriel, the cousin in seventh year that the twins had mentioned.

Some time afterwards, he suddenly heard, "Riddle, Harry!"

Shooting a glance at Tom, who nodded at him reassuringly, Harry then made his way through the few unsorted first years left, entered the Great Hall, and walked down the aisle that separated the four tables by the middle. Fortunately, no one seemed to be paying him much attention.

He plopped down on the stool and Albus Dumbledore carefully placed that hat on top of his head.

The next second, the hat shifted and Harry waited, not sure of what was supposed to happen.

Suddenly, a small voice said in his ear, "Hmm, what have we here? Let's see… Ah, a kind heart and deep loyalty towards those you care for – Hufflepuff could be the place for you, especially with your yearning for a complete family and your desire to belong."

Harry gripped the edges of the stool, a bit startled by the voice, but remained quiet.

"Oh, quite a good mind you have, sharp and perspicacious when you bother to take an interest or apply some effort. Always brimming with curiosity too, and that is ever the catalyst for thought. Then perhaps Ravenclaw, but… Aha!" The voice chuckled wryly. "No, not Ravenclaw for you, it would stifle you! You have an adventurer's soul! And clearly an utter disregard for rules. Plenty of courage, as well…Yes, you would do well in Gryffindor, and… My, my, what an accomplished thief you are-"

The hat wasn't going to tell on him, was it?, thought Harry with some anxiousness.

"No, no, don't fret, I cannot disclose to others what I learn in your minds. But I must say, you can be quite the innocent-looking manipulator. Quite an actor you are – cunningness indeed! A skill only best honed in Slytherin...Well, what a dilemma, you are a hard one to sort. I haven't had such a challenge in a long time!" It chuckled merrily. "I'll have to take a deeper plunge!"

Harry felt the hat gripping his head tighter, shifting and squirming.

"Oh – ah! What's this?" The hat moved again, with agitation it seemed to Harry and he started to get worried.

"Well, I've never encountered one like you before. Quite an unparalleled situation it is. You don't belong here."

Harry began to panic, before the hat's gruff voice snapped in his ear, "No, no, I didn't mean it that way. You are indeed a wizard, don't get your undergarments in a twist. But your life has been tampered with, and twice in that very same night, no less!"

An avalanche of nonplussed, bewildered thoughts swirled in Harry's mind, but the hat didn't seem to take notice of them this time. Instead, it started squirming uncomfortably, as if someone was tickling him.

"Hold your hippogriffs! Yes, yes, I know it's a grave matter. No – but – you want to come out, then? Oh well, have it your way," the hat snapped with irritation, and then it went completely still.

'Oh you poor, poor child,' said a soft, sorrowful voice in Harry's head. 'What a grave misdeed has been done to you-'

'Get a grip on yourself, Helga,' said a sharp, female voice briskly. 'It does no good to get agitated. We all know this is a complicated situation.'

Helga? thought Harry bewildered. He had heard that name before. In the Hogwarts Express, Felicity had mentioned the Founders. Were they really-

'Of course we're not the Founders themselves,' spoke the sharp female voice again. 'We are the bits that the Founders used to create the Sorting Hat – we are their judgments. Now keep still and let us speak, there's much we have to discuss.'

'We cannot sort him, Rowena,' interjected a low, deep male voice. 'It's not his time yet. Hence, we posses no right to do so.'

'Oh, but we can't just turn him away!' anxiously retorted Helga's voice – er, judgment, or whatever it was; Harry still felt a bit dazed, confused, and astonished by the whole affair.

'That is not what Salazar meant,' said Rowena sharply. 'The crux of the matter is that the presence of this boy here, in this time and place, is no accident or consequence of a natural event. That much is clear-'

'I'm with Helga in this,' interrupted a strong, vehement voice. 'The boy should stay. Hogwarts will always be a sanctuary for those who need it!'

A snide scoff was let out, before an incisive male voice snapped, 'It is not a matter of giving sanctuary, Godric, but of whether we should sort him or not.'

'Precisely,' interjected Rowena, her tone matter-of-factly. 'As Salazar says, there's no question about the boy staying or not. My Ledger detected him. Thus, despite that his being here should not have happened, he nonetheless has the right to attend Hogwarts. And Hogwarts evidently wishes to protect him. However, we cannot sort him.'

'He must choose himself,' said Salazar firmly.

'Oh well, if that's all, then it's a simple matter,' said Helga's voice with much relief. Then her tone softened as she added warmly, 'My dear child, in my House you will have loyal friends – you will need those. They will warm your heart and they will be your most treasured gift. You will have this in Hufflepuff, my child. And my House will teach you to forgive those who have acted wrongly towards you, bringing you peace, happiness, and tranquility-'

'He does not need peace and he should never forgive!' interrupted the adamant, boisterous voice. 'He needs to become strong and brave, to be able to battle the foes who have committed this nefarious crime against him. My House will prepare you for that, boy. Choose Gryffindor!'

'Nonsense. He needs a sharp, brilliant mind to garner the knowledge he requires to comprehend his situation and thus act accordingly. You need to be in Ravenclaw, boy, it will shape your mind well.'

'He does not require happiness, or courage, or knowledge,' interjected snidely the deep male voice. 'He needs astuteness and cunningness in order to unravel the puzzle that is his existence and hence best his opponents using their own wiles against them – fighting fire with fire!'

It paused and then added gravely, 'It's clear to me that you are the tool of titans, boy, and you'll need to become one yourself if you wish to survive! Only my House can prepare you for that.' The male voice changed into a whispery murmur, 'And you are one of mine, boy. You have my tongue, my blood. There is no other place for you but Slytherin.'

'Choose, my child,' prompted Helga's voice gently.

Agitated and with confused, warring thoughts clashing in his mind, Harry helplessly glanced around him. He saw that many students were staring at him with irritation or impatience. No doubt, to them it had to look as if the Hat was taking too long to sort him.

'Choose!' pressed on Godric's voice adamantly.

At that, Harry glanced at the Prewett twins seated at the Gryffindor table. They were looking at him with expressions of eager anticipation and expectation. Felicity was warmly smiling at him and Felix was giving him a thumbs-up.

'Don't be swayed by such sentiments. Friends is not what you need,' silkily whispered Salazar's voice. 'And you want to be with your... twin, do you not? I've seen him in your mind. He'll be in my House. Do you really want to be separated from him? Look at him!'

Harry's gaze snapped to Tom, who was one of the few first years left standing by the Great Hall's threshold. His brother was frowning, looking slightly worried.

'If you want to be with him, choose Slytherin - SAY IT NOW, boy, or you'll lose him!'

"SLYTHERIN!" Harry bellowed frenziedly. But in the next instant he realized that it hadn't come out of his open mouth. Instead, it seemed to have travelled from his vocal cords, up his head and through the hat, since it had been the Sorting Hat that had yelled the word in its gruff voice.

Harry immediately jumped to his feet and ripped the hat off his head, letting out a haggard pant of breath.

Albus Dumbledore was intently gazing at him over the rim of his half-moon spectacles, his stare piercing, but Harry didn't pay him any attention.

He simply shoved the hat into the wizard's hands and fled as far away from the hat as possible. He ran towards his House's table.


End file.
